


Reaching For The Light

by AnneTaylor



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety Attacks, Bath Sex, Cannibalism, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fairshaw, Healing, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Knifeplay, Light BDSM, M/M, Mild Gore, Painplay, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prison, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Recovery, Rescue, Rope Bondage, Self-Harm, Stockholm Syndrome, Threesome - M/M/M, Touch-Starved, Trauma, lionfang - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 105,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24919018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneTaylor/pseuds/AnneTaylor
Summary: Mathias Shaw, spymaster to the Alliance, has been a thorn in Nathanos Blightcaller's side for decades. Nathanos has tried to kill or capture the man more times than he can count, but the wily spy always manages to elude him. Nothing would please Nathanos more than to have his enemy helpless and at his mercy at last.He never thought that it would actually happen.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw, Nathanos Blightcaller/Mathias Shaw, Varok Saurfang/Anduin Wrynn
Comments: 294
Kudos: 183





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, many, many thanks to Sed, my wonderful Beta, who is a fantastic writer himself, and whose very naughty "Secret Service" first got me interested in Blightcaller. This fic has been many months in the making, the first seeds of it were planted way back before the advent of social distancing.
> 
> There are a lot of very dark tags and warnings in this story, but in the end, it's a story about restoration and self sacrifice and inner strength and finding your way back out of a dark place. I'll be certain to warn at the beginning of each chapter if any of the stronger warnings apply.

“Try these grapes. They are quite extraordinary.” Sylvanas pressed one into her mouth, rolling it on her tongue as she gazed at Nathanos in a half-lidded mockery of sexual suggestion.

Nathanos Blightcaller tried to keep his impatience under control. It wasn't the sexual innuendo that irritated him; they both knew her interest ran more to icy blonde hair and lush curves than his own cold gray skin and harshly muscled body.

She had arrived quite suddenly last night at Stonecliff Hold, half a day’s travel south of Orgrimmar, with a dozen retainers and soldiers. Refusing to explain her presence, making him wait on her pleasure. And now this…domestic charade. Eating an early dinner with the Banshee Queen and Warchief of the Horde, as if their relationship had a place for such things.

Sylvanas was watching him expectantly, a knowing smile playing about her lips. She knew him so well.

They had once been lovers, so long ago, when they both breathed, but undeath had leeched their passion, little by little, and now there was nothing left to bind them but familiarity and what little remained of his honor.

Besides, they were far too much alike these days to take pleasure in each other's company. Nathanos ground his impatience down and shoved the grapes into his mouth. “Surprisingly sweet,” he agreed. And, to his surprise, they were. Undeath had robbed him of much of his sense of smell and taste. Food that could bring such a rich bouquet to his palate was, indeed, a rarity. “But you didn't travel all this way merely to feed me grapes.”

Her laughter rang out, a harsh sound with an echo of the Banshee’s wail beneath it. “So impatient. Have you already guessed what gift I have brought to you?”

Nathanos didn't even try to guess what it would be. The dripping, putrefied head of the king of Gilneas? A dozen Night Elf ears strung on a belt? The recipe for a particularly savory stew? Sylvanas courted uncertainty; one should never try to anticipate or predict her. “I'm afraid not. What is it?”

She smiled, and there was something in her smile that made even him afraid. Cruelty glittered in her eyes, and the triumph of a victory about to be unveiled. “You're still looking for your little pet, aren't you?” she asked with studied nonchalance.

Something went still inside him. A predatory alertness. _Mine_. “Yes. Do you know where he is?”

“I do,” she said. She spread a slice of bread with blood-red jam and lifted it to her lips. “Heavenly,” she breathed. “I wonder if the grapes could be induced to grow in Kalimdor?”

He bit down a growl of anger. “Where?”

She licked all five fingers, slowly, her teeth white against the pale slash of her mouth. “In one of your basement cells.”

Nathanos surged up out of his chair.

“Not yet,” she purred, her voice like the crack of a whip. “There will be plenty of time to play with him. He's yours. I shall release all claim to him. But in return, there is something I want.” She stared at him until he reluctantly reclaimed his seat. “I found him in Dustwallow Marsh. Sneaking about, all on his own, trusting to his roguish abilities to keep him concealed. One of my Rangers caught sight of him and sent word. I dispatched two dozen of my finest, with orders to track him down and bring him back to me alive and without serious injury.” The corners of her mouth turned down. “He killed seven of them before they managed to take him down,” she hissed.

 _Of course he did_ , Nathanos thought, though he was careful not to display his satisfaction nor the tension that her words had evoked in him. The Alliance's spymaster had not attained his position by being ineffective at his job or unable to defend himself. The man was magnificent.

Anticipation pooled in his belly like heated wine. Shaw was a worthy enemy, and a spirited captive. It was not the first time that Nathanos had the man in his possession, and that first engagement, for however brief a time before the spymaster managed to slip away from him, had left him hungry for more. “I'm surprised that you're willing to give him up so quickly, considering his offences. What is it that you want in exchange?” Impatience roiled in the back of his mind. _He’s there. Waiting for me. All sharp edges and cunning wit, never letting himself be caught at a disadvantage. Oh, but you have been caught, haven’t you, my clever opponent?_ The anticipation of their inevitable meeting sank into his bones like the slow dark roll of honey twirled around a sharpened stake.

Her eyes bored into his. “Oh...not so quickly as you are imagining, Nathanos. You see…my rangers took him exactly a year ago today.” She laughed. “He's been in my dungeon since then. I wanted to see what he was made of, what it was you found so fascinating about him…” She shrugged. “He’s resilient enough, I grant, you,” she sniffed. “Not as pretty as my pet, but he does scream nicely, once you get him warmed up.” She broke off as Nathanos surged to his feet, a guttural snarl rising in his throat.

“You _dare_!”

Sylvanas rose to match him, glare to glare, her eyes glowing with rage. “I am your queen! You do not have leave to question me.”

“He is mine,” he stated coldly, throttling his anger.

“He is…now. A fact you would do well to think about. What I have given, I can take back.”

As long as he did not openly challenge her, Sylvanas would push him, but he knew she would not push him that far unless he forced her to it. With an effort, Nathanos willed his face back into its customary bland expression. He regretted the lack of self-control that had led him to display his emotions to the banshee. It was a weakness that he knew better than to expose to her. “What do you want, my queen?”

A year. Shaw had been in Sylvanas’ hands for a year. The thought was like a knife in his gut, twisting. He wondered how much there would be left of the man. “What do you want?” he repeated.

Sylvanas leaned forward. “I want you to do for me what I have done for you.” Her eyes glittered.

“And what is it that you think you have done for me?” he asked bitterly.

“Clipped some of the sharp edges off. Given him something to be grateful for,” she chuckled. “Whatever you have planned for him will be taken as...an improvement.”

“And you want me to do the same for your pet,” he said flatly. “Take her. Imprison her. Torture her. Then give her back to you.” A laugh grated in his throat. “So that she will be grateful to you for the rescue?”

“You needn't keep her long.” Sylvanas drew herself up coldly. “A week, maybe two. Then I will arrange to take her from you. A rescue.” Her eyes narrowed. “She needn’t find out I had anything to do with it.”

“Then…in the interests of reciprocity,” Nathanos told her, “I'll leave Jaina Proudmoore in the same state that you have left Shaw. Whatever that may prove to be.” He stood. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a cell to visit.”

Sylvanas’ arm lashed out and captured his wrist. “Do we have a bargain?”

He could have broken her grip easily. Her banshee powers and magical abilities made her his master, but his physical strength still exceeded hers. “Yes,” he said.

She released his wrist. “I wish you pleasure of him, then.” Sylvanas leaned closer. “I could have broken him,” she whispered. “He was fragile, toward the end. It would not have taken much. But we don't want them broken, do we? Or perhaps, only a little. Have a care with Proudmoore.”

He gave her a tense nod and exited the dining hall.

* * *

Nathanos strode down the twilight shrouded hall of his castle’s lower level, which had been converted into a prison when he’d taken ownership of Stonecliff Hold many years ago. A spoil of war, taken from a man long dead and buried. Some of the doors to the cells were unlocked and open. A few had occupants. Assorted underlings and malcontents who had annoyed him. He came to a stop before one of the larger doors, age-greyed wood bound in iron. A Forsaken guard stood to one side of the door, half-heartedly snapping to attention at Nathanos’ arrival.

“This is the prisoner that Lady Sylvanas brought with her? Report on his condition.”

The undead shrugged.

Nathanos’ eyes narrowed. “I asked you a question,” he hissed with displeasure. “You will answer it.” The man was unfamiliar. One of Sylvanas’, most likely, left behind to guard Shaw until Nathanos arrived to take possession. He did not often choose to use Forsaken to guard his prisoners. Being freed of the demands of living, they seldom remembered what it had been like to be a prisoner of the flesh. The body that Sylvanas had ensconced Nathanos in gave certain advantages that way. It remembered. Though that memory could be as often a curse as a blessing.

“Still alive,” the undead answered, indifferently. “Last I checked. Lord Blightcaller,” he added.

Nathanos’ displeasure grew keener. “When was that?”

“This morning. At dawn.”

Nathanos frowned. “Unlock the door.”

Selecting a key from a ring on his belt, the guard unlocked the door. Nathanos stepped inside the cell.

The light was dim, seeping in through cracks in the boarded-up window. Spymaster Mathias Shaw sagged against the chains binding his arms behind his body, half suspended from the ceiling, a static variation of strappado. His arms were bent back at an awkward angle. It was immediately obvious that they had been dislocated from the man’s weight and the angle of his suspension. Shaw’s naked body was covered with bruises, burns and whip marks. His breathing was labored, his skin had an unhealthy, grey cast to it.

Shaw’s head jerked slightly in response to Nathanos’ presence, and a pained gasp accompanied the movement.

Nathanos stepped back outside the cell. “When was the prisoner last given water?”

The undead cringed back from the flatness of his tone. “I was given no orders about that, Lord Blightcaller.”

“How long has he been hanging like that?”

“Since he was brought in yesterday, my lord. I didn’t put him there. I’m just to stand guard outside and…”

With a cold grimace of disdain, Nathanos broke his neck. The Forsaken dropped to the ground. His injury would not end his existence, only make it quite unpleasant until Nathanos decided to allow it to be repaired.

That event would not come any time soon. Nathanos retrieved the keys from the guard's writhing body and strode into the cell. Examining Shaw more closely, he could see the signs of dehydration, and the quivers of pain that ran up and down the man’s bound arms. He pressed himself against Shaw’s naked chest, pushing the man up, taking the weight off his arms.

Shaw grunted at the added agony and then clamped his teeth together. “F…fuck you…Blightcaller.”

Nathanos reached around behind the human’s back, fitting the key into the lock that bound Shaw’s chains. “I know, Shaw,” he murmured. “I’ll have you down from there in a moment.”

One arm came free and Shaw tried to use it. A cry of agony was torn from him as the dislocated arm swung free. Nathanos unlocked the manacle from his other arm and the resulting pain made Shaw grey out. His head fell forward helplessly onto Nathanos’ shoulder.

“Try to keep your arms relaxed.” Nathanos eased the spymaster to the ground. “I’m going to have to put those back in your shoulder sockets, Shaw. It will be painful, but it needs to be done.”

“F…fuck…y…”

Nathanos laid Shaw on his back and carefully positioned the man’s left arm into the most convenient angle and snapped it efficiently back into the shoulder socket.

With a cough of pain, Shaw lost consciousness, and Nathanos took the opportunity to attend to his right shoulder as well. _These will need to be bound up for a time_. He didn’t have the supplies he needed here.

What had Sylvanas’ intent been, leaving Shaw in this condition? She must have known how it would have enraged him, had he found Shaw dead of thirst, hanging in his chains. Though, perhaps, after a year she knew the man’s physical limits better than he. Nathanos tucked the unconscious spymaster into the crook of his arm, slipped his other arm beneath Shaw’s knees and lifted.

The human’s body was not as solid as Nathanos remembered it. Months of captivity had leached some of the man’s muscle mass. Still a substantial burden, though; Nathanos’ body did not tire in the same way as a mortal’s would, but it did have its limits. He was beginning to strain when he finally reached the door that led to his private rooms. With a respectful nod, the Forsaken woman, one of his own, opened the door so he could enter with his prize.

 _His prize_. Was that what Shaw was to him? It was hard to say. His needs and desires had changed in the past few years, and he could no longer be certain of what they meant.

All he knew was that he wanted Shaw.

Wanted to control him. To possess him. It was not a comfortable feeling. Much too close to weakness for his liking. He did not want to desire anything that strongly.

He laid Shaw down on his bed.

First, the man’s arms would have to be secured to prevent him from injuring his damaged shoulders further. Though he seldom needed it for himself, Nathanos still remembered something of the art of healing. He tore a cotton nightshirt into strips and wound them about Shaw’s upper arms, then took a couple of turns around the lower arms as well, binding the limbs to his sides. _His shoulders will heal more quickly this way_.

Sylvanas would have scoffed. _Keep him in pain_ , she had advised him. _It gives him less energy with which to make troublesome plans_.

He did not envy Jaina, once she was in Sylvanas’ hands. He knew from experience how cruel the banshee could be, even with those who she claimed to have some care for.

On the lacquered dresser in the corner of his room was a pitcher of fresh spring water. He selected a goblet and poured in a small amount of wine, then filled it with water.

A year ago, in a moment of misguided weakness, he had allowed his interest in Shaw to become known to Sylvanas. Shortly thereafter, the spymaster had disappeared from the public eye.

At the time, Nathanos had known only that his spies had lost track of Shaw, and that, publicly, nobody knew where he had gone. At first, he’d assumed that Shaw was engaging on some secret mission of sabotage, spying or assassination. He’d doubled the surveillance on his keep and the surrounding territory, but no trace of the man was detected. He had known it wouldn’t guarantee that Shaw wasn’t lurking about; the spymaster was damnably good at his job. It was one of the qualities that fascinated Nathanos. As the head of SI:7, the Alliance's spy organization, and also the head of the assassin's guild, Shaw commanded an obscene amount of influence. He’d no doubt that if Shaw wanted to rule, he could have arranged it. Even if it was by turning the Alliance’s golden-haired prince into a puppet. But Shaw had no such desire. He preferred to lurk in the shadows. A quality that Nathanos could identify with.

He returned to the bed.

Shaw’s dehydration was the most pressing problem. Setting the goblet of water down, he slid his arm beneath the man’s back, supporting his head with splayed fingers, and raised him up into a sitting position. The spymaster’s head rolled to one side. His lips were cracked and pale, and his skin was chilled beneath Nathanos' fingertips. He gave Shaw’s cheek a gentle pat. “Shaw. Wake up.”

The human’s body began to twitch, signaling an unwilling return to consciousness. Nathanos wrapped his arm around Shaw’s body, knowing that the spymaster was likely to be contentious, at least at first.

Shaw opened his eyes, startling at the sight of Nathanos so close. He struggled for a moment, wincing at the pain from his bound arms, but Nathanos easily restrained him. Finally, Shaw subsided, trembling with exhaustion. “Blightcaller. Your turn at me, I take it.” His voice was a dry, toneless rasp.

“Shaw.” Nathanos settled Shaw carefully against his shoulder and lifted the goblet of watered wine to his lips.

The spymaster turned his head away.

“It’s not drugged.”

“I don’t care.” Shaw’s gaze darted about the room as if seeking an escape, fixing on the room’s single window.

As Shaw stared out at the darkening, cloud streaked rectangle, Nathanos wondered how long it had been since the man had been allowed to see the sky. “Drink it, Shaw. It’s just wine and water. You’re dehydrated.”

Shaw was silent. He no longer struggled to do anything but draw breath. His chest rose and fell in shallow gasps. Finally, he spoke. “Is this what you wanted, Blightcaller? Seeing me like this? Reduced to an empty shell of a man? Is this how you wanted your victory?

 _Empty, Shaw? Never that._ Then the rest of the man’s words struck home and Nathanos cursed Sylvanas from the depths of his heart. She must have told Shaw that Nathanos was responsible for his torment. “This was none of my doing, Shaw. I had no idea where you were until half an hour ago.”

“But she did it on your behalf.”

“She did it for her own reasons,” Nathanos snapped, “whatever she may have told you.”

“I don’t…it doesn’t matter, really. Whatever you had hoped to gain…there’s little left that hasn’t already been done to me. Wherever you go, she’s been there first.” Shaw gave a choking laugh. “Well, maybe a few things she didn’t have the anatomy for. Not that she wasn’t capable of inventing things that were worse.” Full body tremors had set in, and his skin was cold to the touch.

Nathanos laid him carefully back on the pillow, rose, and went to the fireplace, where a fire blazed. He dug out a hot brick and wrapped it with a spare blanket. Then he brought it back to the bed, tucked it against Shaw’s side and pulled the covers over him.

As the heat began to sink into his chilled body, a look of puzzlement came over Shaw’s face. “You think this will reset me, Blightcaller? That I will rebound, back to the man that I was so you can break me all over again? Don’t bother. She’s been there as well.” The lids over his green eyes were pulled down slowly, as the heat had the chance to permeate under the blanket.

"Do you really want to die, Shaw?"

Shaw's eyes were suddenly filled with a naked honesty that was almost painful in its transparency. "There's nothing I'd like more. As long as I could be certain I'd stay dead."

"But you don't have that certainty, do you?" Nathanos picked up the glass again. "I could play this game with you, Shaw. You can refuse to drink or to eat. I can resort to extreme measures to keep you alive. But ultimately, we will end up in the same place. Neither you nor I want you dead. So, let us bypass this stage of the process and move on to something which, I can assure you, Sylvanas hasn’t done."

“I can’t wait.” Shaw’s gaze strayed back to the window, fixed desperately on nothing that Nathanos could identify. “You’ll have your work cut out for you. She was very inventive. I told her so on a number of occasions.”

But this time, when Nathanos raised the glass to his lips, Shaw drank. He drained the goblet, then lay, slightly dazed, his lips still glistening with wine. Nathanos brushed his finger across them, lifting it to his tongue, feeling disappointment that he could not taste the man. His eyes brushed over the outlines of Shaw’s body beneath the blanket, wondering what the rest of him would taste like.

Shaw blinked, trying to track Nathanos’ movements. His eyes were having trouble focusing. “So. When does the fun begin?”

 _Exhaustion. Shock. In addition to the pain of his injuries_. “Not tonight, Shaw. Close your eyes. Sleep.”

“Huh.” Shaw snorted. “Sorry. Been there before. Sylvanas liked to catch me right on the edge of falling asleep.” He flung his head from side to side, as if he was trying to force himself to stay awake.

“Hmm.” Nathanos let a puff of air escape. “Well, as long as you insist on staying awake…” He rose off the bed and went to his writing table carrying the empty goblet. Locked inside a drawer beneath the table were several dozen small vials. He selected one, letting two drops fall into the goblet. He replaced the vial and filled the goblet with water and wine. Then he poured the last of the wine into the pitcher and returned to the bed, carrying both glass and pitcher of watered wine. He sat on the bed, placing the pitcher on the side table.

Shaw gave a small, frightened whimper as he came awake. “Not sleeping…”

Nathanos wondered what sort of twisted games Sylvanas had played with Shaw to make him so wary of sleep. He hooked his hand beneath Shaw’s shoulders and lifted. “Time for another drink.”

Shaw accepted the water, drinking greedily. His body’s natural response to dehydration must be exerting itself. _Better_. Nathanos stared at the rise and fall of the human’s throat as he drank. He felt a sudden wish to bend down and place his ear against Shaw’s chest, to hear the beat of his heart.

It was one of the few attributes that he and Sylvanas did not have in common. Sylvanas hated the living, and all life. Nathanos…found himself drawn to it. That life, that energy, was something that he had seen in abundance years ago when he had taken the Alliance’s spymaster by surprise while the man was spying on his keep.

Shaw finished the last of the watered wine, his tongue licking out, reaching for the dregs.

Nathanos refilled the glass and offered it to Shaw. Again, the man drank without hesitation. “Good,” Nathanos murmured. “You’re doing well. Drink your fill.”

Confusion and a touch of anxiety rippled across Shaw’s face, but he obediently drank all that was put to him. After five draughts Nathanos could see that Shaw was having difficulty forcing himself to drink. He took away the glass and set it down on the table.

Shaw’s gaze followed the glass, then raised his head to catch Nathanos’ eyes. “So. What now, Blightcaller? I haven’t been dry fucked in a while. You could try that.” He closed his eyes, but not before Nathanos saw the flash of despair in his eyes.

“Is that what you would like?” Nathanos asked curiously.

Shaw’s stomach heaved. He turned his head desperately away, struggling to keep from vomiting.

Nathanos supported his head until the spasms ceased. He wondered if Shaw had taken in too much liquid for his stomach to handle, or if it had been an instinctual reaction to his anticipation of being raped. Were Shaw less fragile at the moment he might have pursued that question, if only to determine what the man’s triggers were. Nathanos had no taste for rape as a personal preference, though he had occasionally found it useful for challenging interrogations.

Though, most likely, having been on the receiving end of Sylvanas’ cruelty for so long, everything was likely to be a trigger for Shaw.

The drug was beginning to take effect. Shaw’s eyes rolled back into his head and, with an effort, he forced them back into focus. He watched Nathanos with wary desperation. “What do I have to do, Blightcaller? What do I have to do to earn it?”

“To earn what?” Nathanos asked, though he suspected he knew what Shaw’s answer would be.

“Please,” said Shaw. His voice was trembling with utter exhaustion. “Please let me sleep. Just for tonight. I won’t ask for it again.”

Nathanos resettled Shaw’s head in the crook of his arm. The spymaster’s eyes rolled up again as he lost the battle for consciousness, and he went limp. Nathanos held him for a moment longer, then laid him carefully back on the bed. Shaw’s breathing was deep and even, with the occasional hitch or shudder. It was oddly comforting, seeing the spymaster’s face relaxed in sleep. He seemed…more himself. More the man that Nathanos remembered. Keen and in control. Observant. Quick witted. Manipulative. Sly. Completely convinced of his own abilities.

For a time, Nathanos merely sat and watched him, taking pleasure in the sight of his sleeping captive. Then, once he was certain that Shaw was too deeply asleep to be roused easily, he pulled back the covers in order to more fully examine the man’s injuries.

Bruises, some fresh and deep purple, others the fading yellow green of past injury. An odd series of scabbed-over parallel score marks in various places; beneath Shaw’s armpits, across his lower abdomen, down the inside of his thighs. He prodded and ran his fingers over Shaw’s body. No broken bones. It seemed probable that Sylvanas had been careful to avoid anything life threatening, so he was unlikely to have internal injuries. His genitals bore the marks of some kind of repeated irritation. Shaw’s foreskin had been pierced in several places, as had his testicles, and the piercings were fitted with gold rods topped with tiny jewels.

Nathanos frowned. The piercings were fairly fresh; obviously Sylvanas had meant to send some sort of message with them. Punishment? A sign of ownership? In any case, he had no use for them. If he wanted Shaw pierced, he’d do so himself. Carefully, he snapped off the ends and removed them from Shaw’s flesh. He lifted the man’s legs up to examine his anus. Healthy and undamaged, and tight enough that Shaw squirmed uncomfortably in his sleep while Nathanos explored him with a finger slicked with spittle. No internal damage there.

The sites of some of the removed piercings bled, and Nathanos dabbed them with a whisky soaked cloth. Shaw’s legs twitched at the sting. Pulling the covers back over Shaw’s body, Nathanos settled himself on the bed, close enough to feel the heat from the wrapped brick radiating up into his side. His undead body didn’t need sleep, but he could meditate, and slip into a somnolent state that often left him feeling refreshed.

He wanted to be on hand in case Shaw awoke in the middle of the night.

And he needed time to evaluate the odd protectiveness that had flared up at the sight of Shaw, hanging helpless in his chains, and which had only grown stronger as the evening progressed. It was worrisome, all the more because it felt quite pleasant. Pleasant to think about, pleasant to indulge.

Was it a weakness? Yes, Nathanos decided, insomuch as all pleasures were weaknesses. And yet, without pleasures, existence had no meaning.

In the morning, Shaw would need a bath. His body was caked with sweat and blood and other bodily fluids. And they would need to come to some arrangement that would take both their needs into account.

Nathanos closed his eyes and lost himself in a soothing contemplation of his plans for the following day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw has been given to Nathanos as a pet. The last time Nathanos found himself in possession of the spymaster, the man had disappeared without a trace within hours.
> 
> History is unlikely to repeat itself.

Nathanos awoke to the feel of Shaw shivering beside him. He levered himself up and glanced at the man.

Shaw had managed to kick the blanket mostly off sometime in the late hours of the morning, and it was wrapped around his feet. His efforts to retrieve it must have been what broke Nathanos out of his somnolent state. The spymaster’s naked, discolored skin was dimpled with gooseflesh. His gaze flickered to Nathanos, then quickly away. “So…what’s on the menu for today? A little pain play? Some more inventive form of rape? With an actual cock this time, and not a fucking huge…” he broke off with a wide eyed twitchy, gasp. “Good times. How long am I on loan for, Blightcaller?”

“There was no specified time limit,” Nathanos told him blandly. “As for our first day together…we’ll start slow.” He rose to his feet. “I doubt you’ll be up for anything too strenuous for a while. Certainly, no suspensions. How are the arms this morning?”

“About what you’d expect.”

“Hmm.” Nathanos smiled. Shaw’s spirits seemed to be recovering. It was a good sign. “I think the first order of business will involve bathing.” It was fortunate that his sense of smell was muted. Being suspended for the better part of a day had forced Shaw to soil himself.

“Sorry to get blood and shit all over your bed,” Shaw told him, trying for a sneer as he did so. “Oh, and cum.”

Nathanos examined the spymaster’s body. Blood, yes, he had noticed that last night. Less evident was the cum that encrusted Shaw’s scored and bruised body.

“It’s not mine,” Shaw told him, his voice strangely flat. “There are some things that I never gave her. That was one of them. You won’t get it either.” The light of rebellion flared briefly in his eyes, then Shaw stiffened. Nathanos could see the pulse at the man’s throat suddenly begin to throb. The rate of his breathing increased until Shaw was gasping for breath, and his defiance had turned to distress.

 _Panic attack_. Nathanos was quite familiar with the symptoms. Repeated interrogations frequently brought them out. “Relax, Shaw. It’s just going to be a bath, for now. Nothing extra. I imagine you’ll find it quite pleasurable.”

“And if I don’t?” Shaw’s eyes were fastened on Nathanos. There was something in them that was drowning.

Nathanos understood what Shaw was asking. “Then…at least you’ll be clean. That will be a relief to both of us, I would imagine.” He waited for the panic to die out of the man’s eyes, wondering if his touch would relieve or increase Shaw’s distress.

“F…f…fuck you, Blightcaller.” Shaw’s gaze intensified, his irises bright green around the tiny pupils of his eyes. He stared at Nathanos as prey might watch an approaching predator. “Fuck you. FUCK you!”

The man was testing him. Pushing him. Expecting him to lash out.

Shaw bared his teeth and tried to kick at Nathanos with his sheet entangled legs. "Go ahead, Blightcaller. Split me open, shove your cock in me! Is there enough of a man left in that decayed body to make me scream?"

Nathanos chuckled, a deep sound that made Shaw jerk with shocked reaction. The spymaster obviously wanted to be hurt. It would give him rage, an armor to defend himself with against Nathanos' careful assault. _That is not how this is going to proceed, Shaw_. It was one of the benefits of his undead nature; he was no longer subject to the whims of uncontrolled emotion. It was not that he lacked emotion, just that sentiment took longer to grow. And the complex feelings that he had for Mathias Shaw were something that had been growing for years.

 _My enemy. My captive. My possession_.

Nathanos ran a hand across Shaw's skin, feeling the raised flesh from his many scars catch against his fingers. _Is this a map to who he is now? A man defined by his scars?_

Shaw's skin was slick with sweat. "Is this supposed to be frightening me, Blightcaller?"

It wasn't, but "...you're trembling, Shaw."

Shaw's head twisted as if he was trying to escape something. "So? What would be the point in trying to hide what you’re doing to me? It just provides more entertainment value for you to tear it out. You want me to scream, Blightcaller, I'll scream. You want me to sob with terror? It wouldn't be the first time."

"And you are prepared to give me what I want?" Nathanos asked, struggling to understand who Shaw had become. It was painfully obvious that the man he had known, the man he had craved, was gone. His strength, his confidence, his defiance. _Damn you, Sylvanas. Damn you for stealing him from me_.

"I haven't had choices in a very long time. You'll take what you want from me. There's nothing that I can do about it."

"I..." Shaw was right. That was what Nathanos had thought to do. It was what he had wanted from the man long ago. But it was no longer what he wanted.

“Sex between us isn’t an option right now,” Nathanos told him. “For a number of reasons.” He sat on the bed, reaching out to let the backs of his fingers graze lightly across Shaw’s chest, over the too-prominent ripples of his rib cage, across his hip and down his thigh. “This knee should be iced, I think.”

Shaw shivered beneath his touch. “Not doing anything for me, Blightcaller. Besides, I’ve had this game played too many times. The comfort game. Sylvanas played it a lot, but she was shit at it. Didn’t have the patience.” His short laugh was too high, too forced. “She tried to give me a shave once and almost ended up cutting my throat.”

Nathanos saw it then; a thin, red scar running down the curve of Shaw’s throat. He could see the tiny white dots that marked where the wound had been stitched. “Her mistake. Letting a knife anywhere near your throat. Careless of her,” he remarked.

“Yeah. She figured that out.” Shaw swallowed. His gaze jerked away from Nathanos’. “Probably a good thing her reflexes were better than mine. Otherwise I’d be in…” he broke off and Nathanos saw the pupils of his eyes suddenly contract. He stopped breathing and his eyes went glassy for a moment.

“Shaw.” He took the man’s face between his hands and slapped him lightly on the cheek. “Shaw.”

The spymaster dragged in a gasp of air. His eyes came alive, darting about the room as if he expected to find something lurking there.

“Where did you go, Shaw?”

“A bad place,” Shaw twisted his face away, his body straining. “Light. Help me,” he panted. “I don’t want to go there.”

“Was this a place Sylvanas told you about?” Nathanos had heard her describe it before, after her experiences on Icecrowne. A place of horror and eternal torment. She occasionally used it to terrify the newly raised into obedience, telling them that such a place was the destination for the twice deceased, but he knew that Sylvanas believed only she and Arthas were destined for it.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Shaw gasped. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. You could break one of my fingers instead. Kind of a getting to know you thing. Broken bones are easy to mend, so you could do it over and over.” He gave a half hysterical laugh. “Effective. Not very imaginative, mind you, but effective.”

Forsaken healers tended to concentrate on spells that healed the bones and other structural elements. To many of them, the flesh was irrelevant. Mending broken bones was one of the first things a journeyman healer was taught. “I think,” Nathanos told him, “that, for now, we’ll stick with breakfast and a bath.”

Shaw went limp, color gradually returning to his face. His eyes strayed to Nathanos, then away. He took a long breath and let it out, with almost a wistful sound.

“What are you thinking about, Shaw?” Nathanos didn’t really expect the man to answer.

“That I’m thirsty. And hungry.” His gaze crept back up to Nathanos. “As long as you’re going to play the “comfort” game with me, I’m willing to take advantage of it. But don’t expect me to buy into your shit, Blightcaller.”

“Fair enough.” It was an acceptable arrangement, for now. A truce, of sorts.

“Also…” Shaw added, “I have to piss. Not that pissing myself would make me smell any worse, but I’m guessing you plan on keeping me in this bed a lot, so…”

Nathanos smiled. The man’s combination of brashness and vulnerability was intoxicating. A camouflage, of sorts. Most likely it had pleased Sylvanas as well, and saved Shaw from worse things. He helped Shaw sit up, swaying slightly, legs trailing over the edge of the bed. “Stay there.” He fetched an ornately enameled chamber pot from its cabinet and carried it back to the bed. Slipping his hand around Shaw’s cock, he lifted and positioned it, feeling Shaw’s flesh soft and warm beneath his fingers.

Shaw shivered. “Cold,” he remarked. It took him a while to get the flow started. He gave a little sigh of relief as his bladder emptied. “You took the piercings out,” he remarked.

“Had you wanted to keep them?” Nathanos inquired.

“She said you liked them. That you once hung a man from the ceiling by his piercings.”

It was true. He had. But there had been nothing erotic about it. Interrogations never were, for him, although he liked to give the impression that they were. It made them more effective. But they were just business. “That was a one-time thing,” he told Shaw. “Are you ready for your bath?”

“Not like I have anything better to do at the moment.”

* * *

Nathanos leaned against the wall of his bathing chamber, watching Lena and Yurig dump hot water into the tub. It was large, having been custom built to Nathanos’ specifications by a tauren blacksmith, and required many trips to fill. Nathanos took what Sylvanas complained was an obscene amount of pleasure in bathing, and he liked to have room to sprawl. Many years ago, she had even condescended to join him occasionally, allowing him to lave her dark skin with scented soaps and comb out her golden hair, surrounded by dozens of beeswax candles. Her sneering remarks about such softness being the equivalent of weakness, made whenever he displeased her, eventually soured him on the experience.

Shaw’s first bathing experience at Nathanos’ hand was going to be much less elaborate.

Yurig Plainstrider was only of average height for a tauren, but he had extremely broad shoulders and muscles that rippled enticingly with every graceful movement. He dumped two twenty-gallon buckets of hot water into the tub, one after the other, with barely a ripple of his massive arm muscles. He was also an enthusiastic and adventurous bed partner who found Nathanos’ preferences both stimulating and compatible. He glanced over at Nathanos, his ears flicking curiously at the sight of Shaw, naked and huddled in a blanket, at Nathanos’ feet. “Will you need assistance with him, Lord Nathanos?” He knew Nathanos’ preferences.

Nathanos glanced down at Shaw. “I don’t think he will give me any trouble. Will you, human?”

Shaw gave him a wary look. “If the plan is to put me in the tub and let me wash this shit off, then, no. If you plan to hold my head under the water while you do it, probably.” He tried to pull down deeper into the blanket.

One of Yurig’s ears swiveled up questioningly.

Nathanos gave a slight nod. Yurig crossed the floor and stripped Shaw’s blanket off. Shaw jerked back from the tauren’s large hands and ended up sprawling on the floor, then tensely allowed himself to be lifted up and carried to the tub. In the huge tauren’s arms he looked almost childlike, his arms tightly swaddled in the bindings that Nathanos had wound around him, legs hanging over the crook of Yurig’s arm.

When they reached the tub, Shaw tensed again, clearly expecting to be dropped roughly into the tub, but Yurig lowered him carefully down. “Fuck! Hot!” Shaw yelped, bucking as his buttocks breached the surface.

Yurig snorted. “Barely warm, human.” He cocked his head at Nathanos.

Nathanos waved his hand. “Take your time.” He went to speak to Lena. The tall, dark haired woman had been one of the first Forsaken whose raising Nathanos had been directly responsible for. Once an enemy soldier who had fought against the Horde, she had been cut down in an engagement near Theramore. Nathanos had found her, writhing in agony from her deathblow. He had been struck by her courage; even as life ebbed, she had defied him. Sylvanas had raised her at Nathanos’ request. It was a request that he had never regretted.

“Have a meal brought up,” he instructed Lena. “Something light.” He had no way of knowing how long it had been since Shaw had last eaten. “Soup and bread. And fruit juice. Also, have Chiyong give you one of her green tea concoctions.” Chiyong was a Pandaran alchemist who had arrived on the shores of Kalimdor from a small town in Four Winds. She was currently studying with a Forsaken alchemist, sharing knowledge regarding herbal properties, but she kept a supply of her native herbs on hand for their healing properties. They didn’t work on the Forsaken, but for a human they would do quite well.

Lena gave him a brisk nod and left. She still had a soldier’s temper and a soldier’s manners, but also a soldier’s willingness to follow orders, which suited Nathanos admirably.

Nathanos crossed his arms and watched Yurig working Shaw gradually into the tub, murmuring quietly to the human as he lowered his arms. Finally, Shaw was submerged up to his neck, leaning trustingly back into Yurig’s large hand. There was something about the tauren that people responded to, Nathanos had noticed. By the fierce warriors who led the war activities of the Horde, he was considered a weakling. He made them uneasy, because they could not help but respond to his gentleness. It was one of the many things Nathanos appreciated about him. He often took Yurig with him to Horde meetings, just to enjoy the look of discomfort on the others’ faces.

But to the weak or the helpless or the wounded, Yurig was a source of comfort and strength. It was simply part of his nature. He held a mug of cooled, boiled water to Shaw’s lips and the man gulped it eagerly.

Nathanos approached, stationing himself on the edge of the tub, and Shaw gave him a nervous look. “Lift him up.”

Shaw's shoulders twitched inside their bonds as his body was lifted to the surface and exposed. Water lapped at his ears and the bindings on his arms. His legs trailed down into the water.

Nathanos slipped his fingers beneath the cloth strips, rubbing away the blood and the cum.

Shaw made a pained sound, but did not protest as Nathanos methodically cleared away the dried-on reminders of his time with Sylvanas. Rust colored bits spun away into the water as Yurig supported Shaw’s head and back, and Nathanos rinsed him with cupped hands. Eventually the area was clean; the slick film that had covered him gave way to something rougher; scars that caught beneath Nathanos’ fingers.

Shaw's eyes ranged from wall to ceiling, perhaps seeking some kind of distraction. He twitched at every touch of Nathanos’ hands. “Didn't get it all yet, Blightcaller. We're just getting started, aren't we? Going to do the old cock and balls next, or have your handyman turn me over and get intimate with my ass-crack?”

Nathanos took pleasure in Shaw’s over-sensitivity and responsiveness. He rubbed lavender scented soap into his hands and begin to work on Shaw’s neck and face. “I told you, we're starting slow. Are you getting impatient to be touched?”

Shaw stared fixedly at the ceiling for a moment. Then he muttered “My ass itches.”

“Does it?” Nathanos inquired silkily. “I'll make that my next project then.” He took a soft cloth, dipped it into the bath water and cleared the soap from Shaw’s face, then splashed water over his neck.

He rinsed the cloth and wrung it out. “I'm going to lift up your leg. Stay relaxed, if you can.”

“Whatever you say, Blightcaller.” Shaw's eyelids were beginning to droop again. Steam from the heated water floated up and dissipated in the colder air of the room.

Nathanos reached down into the water and caught Shaw's leg behind the knee, pulling it forward, opening him up.

Shaw squirmed a little as his buttock and groin areas were thoroughly cleaned. “Something tells me this isn't your first time doing this,” he grunted.

Yurig snorted, and Nathanos gave him a warning look, which Yurig chose to ignore. “Lord Nathanos is quite skilled in such matters,” he murmured, with a brief and slightly mischievous glance at Nathanos. “I have enjoyed his attentions many times. His mastery of pain and pleasure is...without equal.”

“Hell. Figures that you’d be into pain, Blightcaller.” Shaw shuddered but didn't try to escape as his balls and limp cock were carefully soaped. The cloth came away stained pink. The wounds from Shaw’s removed piercings were still bleeding.

“Hmmm. Bring him upright, Yurig.” By the time that Nathanos had finished washing his back, Shaw had fallen silent, his head resting against Yurig’s furred arm, staring pensively at the water with half lidded eyes.

There was a knock on the door. “Enter!” Nathanos called out, expecting that Lena had returned, but the door banged open and Sylvanas strode into the room.

“I believe you have something that belongs to me,” she hissed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw is desperate. Nathanos isn't certain how best to deal with the situation.

Shaw thrashed suddenly in Yurig’s arms and the tauren lost his grip. The spymaster’s body slipped beneath the surface, his legs scraping for purchase against the sides of the tub. Bubbles of air trailed up from his nostrils.

Yurig immediately plunged his hands into the water but froze as Sylvanas hissed a command “Hold him down there. Proudmoore has disappeared,” she snapped at Nathanos. “Where is she?”

Shock warred with anger in Nathanos’ mind. “I don't have her.”

Yurig gave him a pleading look. He had Shaw's shoulders in his grasp but had not started to lift. Sylvanas was the one person in existence who could truly terrify Yurig.

“Bring him up,” Nathanos ordered.

“I said leave him down,” Sylvanas snapped, but Nathanos could tell that she was more peeved than truly angry. “You're soft, Nathanos. He'll take the reins given half a chance...keeping him on the edge is the only way to keep him under control.”

Shaw's head emerged. Yurig hauled him into a sitting position as the spymaster spurted water from his nose and broke out in a fit of coughing.

“We had a bargain,” Sylvanas reminded Nathanos, with a venomous edge to her voice.

“We can discuss this in my sitting-room,” Nathanos said flatly. He didn't want Shaw to hear anything about the arrangement regarding Jaina.

“Very well.” Sylvania sauntered into the room until she was within Shaw's range of vision. “Got a little water up your nose?” she inquired. “You used to be much better at holding your breath.”

Shaw coughed and panted, wild-eyed, kicking at the tub in an instinctual attempt to put distance between himself and the banshee.

“He struggles so deliciously,” she cooed. “I'm missing him already. Give him back to me tonight, would you, my dearest? I have a lovely toy that Gallywix had designed for me and I've been simply dying to try it. Of course, it was built for someone orc sized but Mathias somehow always manages to accommodate.”

Nathanos stared at her, keeping his expression carefully neutral. Anything he said would only inflame her further. He wondered what had happened to Jaina Proudmoore; if she could not be found, it boded ill for Shaw.

Sylvanas’ lip curled. “I don't see any candles,” she remarked with a sneer. “Perhaps that's to be reserved for the second date.” She gave a laugh. “We know some very interesting uses for candles, don't we, Mathias?”

“My lady.” Nathanos gave her a courtly bow. “Perhaps we might discuss this in another room. If you would be so kind?”

She gave him a baleful look, not at all distracted by his superfluous courtesy, but then sniffed. “You'd do better to abandon the seduction and just skip ahead to the fucking. Do you know...he learned to take orc cock unprepared…without tearing? Very capable, is our little human. I was able to do things to him that none of my others could tolerate. Being strong isn't always a comfortable thing, is it, Mathias?”

Shaw's eyes had fastened onto Sylvanas. His face was bone white, his features rigid.

“Though,” she added. “It has been a while since I had Ruk and Tormbiler in to play with him; he’ll probably have to be stretched again.” She smiled, tilting her head at Shaw. Her eyes traveled over him possessively. “They’ve been asking about you, Mathias. They’ve missed you. Come,” she commanded, nodding at Nathanos, and he obediently followed.

Lena was hovering in the hallway. She had a tray of food balanced on splayed fingers and the nose of a potion bottle poked out of one of her pockets. “My lady.” She gave Sylvanas a respectful nod.

“Feed him,” Nathanos said curtly as he trailed past in Sylvanas’ wake.

* * *

“What have you done?” Sylvanas demanded. She had declined the seat offered and stood, fists clenched and legs planted, in Nathanos’ elegant sitting room. “She’s disappeared, and nobody seems to know where she is.”

“Nothing that should have resulted in her disappearance,” Nathanos told her. He seated himself on a thickly upholstered armchair, knowing it would reduce Sylvanas’ aggression. It relaxed her to have the highest vantage point in the room. “I sent Timberfell in with a coded message, instructing my contact in Proudmoore Keep to send information as to Jaina's whereabouts and plans.”

“You may have sent her to ground then,” Sylvanas remarked sourly. “If one of them was caught.”

“They cannot break my code.”

“Of course they can,” the banshee snapped. “All they have to do is break your man.”

He had never told Sylvanas who his contact was within the palace and she had pretended she didn’t care enough to ask. It was all games between them, an elaborate dance of cooperation and antagonism. “If we use my contact to take Jaina, I’ll lose him.”

“Anyone can be replaced,” she shrugged. Then she gave him a smile as keen as a freshly whetted knife. “If you break your pet spymaster properly, he would make an exceptional resource.”

 _Unlikely_ , Nathanos snorted, but didn't bother to voice the thought. Shaw would die before he would turn traitor. “Timberfell should be returning by next week, and then I'll have a better idea of where things stand.”

“Too slow,” Sylvanas told him impatiently. “I have my own contacts.” She began to pace. “The situation in Kul Tiras is unsettled, both politically and economically. Jaina has been forced too far into the pockets of the Alliance, looking for allies.”

Nathanos declined to remind her that Jaina Proudmoore had always been in sympathy with the Alliance, and that was unlikely to change. Kul Tiras had only been the Alliance's enemy when it was Jaina's as well. “And you think you can change that? How?”

Sylvanas expression grew closed. “That is not your concern…”

 _You are growing predictable, my queen_ , Nathanos thought, but he was careful not to let anything spill over into his expression. “As you wish.” Did Sylvanas actually believe that Jaina Proudmoore could be broken and re-forged to her purposes? Or fooled by a staged rescue from his own nefarious clutches? “What are your orders, my queen?”

She selected an apple from a bowl of fruit that one of the servants had left for them. “For now,” she bit into the apple, “learn as much as you can. When Jaina is to be taken, I will arrange the specifics. I will instruct you as to where you can take possession of her. Hopefully you can manage on your own after that?” Her tone was thickly overlaid with sarcasm.

“Of course, my queen,” he returned with perfect courtesy.

She seemed on the verge of saying more, then gave a little sniff. “Take your pleasures while you can, Nathanos. Life is uncertain.” She gave him a hard look. “But if I cannot have what I desire, then neither will you.” She turned, and abruptly left the room.

Nathanos stared after her, hearing the echoes of her threat rise up to ambush him. He was surprised at the strength of them.

 _Sylvanas is right. I have become obsessed with Shaw._ Briefly he considered his options, but any path that he imagined putting his feet to would only make the situation worse.

Unless he was prepared to give Shaw up. Not just for a short while, but for good.

 _No_.

Well, at least I'm not the only one suffering such dilemmas. Sylvanas had seemed almost...distraught...when she spoke of Proudmoore's disappearance. Could it be that she was developing an attachment to the human? Certainly, Sylvanas had made no secret of lusting after Jaina Proudmoore. But her concern had a deeper edge than might have been expected, had Proudmoore’s disappearance merely deprived her of an anticipated pleasure.

And it wasn’t the first time.

It would make all of her jibes concerning Shaw hypocritical. For that reason alone, she would be unwilling to admit to the possibility of such an attachment, even to herself.

It was something to think on. Nathanos left the room, the beginnings of a plan taking vague form in his mind.

* * *

When he reached the bathing room, he could hear the sharp rumbles of an argument spilling out past the heavy door.

“...was given a task to perform and by the Earthmother’s left tit, I will perform it!” Lena spat at Yurig. Her milky eyes glared at him.

Yurig’s ears were flattened against his head, his shoulders hunched in anger. “Keep your blasphemies to yourself, cursed one. If you must disrespect the gods, disrespect your own. Oh, wait, the Forsaken don't have any, do they...?” Yurig said scornfully.

“What. Is. This. About?” Nathanos frowned, looking about for Shaw. “Where's the human?” he growled, when he failed to locate the spymaster.

Yurig’s ears swept an eloquent path toward one corner of the room. Nathanos strode across the floor, which was puddled with water. Half-hidden behind a movable table piled with towels was Shaw. Curled tightly into a ball, knees against his forehead. Towels had been wrapped around him.

“He refused to eat, Commander!” Lena barked. “Your orders were to feed him. I was going to fetch a feeding tube from the lab when this great oaf…”

“It's not necessary,” Yurig argued. “Lord Nathanos can handle him. Extreme measures were not yet called for…”

“Enough.” Nathanos bent down to run his hand over the wet strands of the spymaster’s hair. “Shaw.” He softened his voice. “Shaw... look at me.”

No response.

Nathanos crouched before the human. He gently forced Shaw's face out into the open; the man's eyes were glassy and unresponsive.

Biting back a surge of anger, Nathanos rose. So much for the relaxing day of leisure that he had been anticipating. What was it in Sylvanas that constantly drove her to lash out and destroy others’ peace of mind?

“He'll have to be carried,” he told Yurig. “Lena...I apologize for not being more specific in my orders. Yurig was correct. I don't think we need to resort to forced feedings yet.”

“Commander.” She nodded a stiff acknowledgement as Yurig turned his back on her, his features glowing with satisfaction.

Nathanos resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The gesture would have lacked dignity. _I should have known better than to leave these two unsupervised in a room together._ At times they bickered like children.

Shaw was limp and unresisting as Yurig gathered him up. “Lord Nathanos?”

“Bring him back to my bed. Lena, make sure the fire is built up. And bring the tray.”

Lena tucked the tray beneath her arm and swept out the door. She was one of Nathanos’ most valued people. A common soldier by trade before she died and after, she had gladly given up her former profession to serve Nathanos after he had preserved her life. In the many years that she had served him, he had never been given cause to complain. However, she tended to follow orders rather literally. Normally, that was an asset.

Nathanos and Yurig stepped out into the hallway and headed for the bedroom. “Lord Nathanos,” Yurig remarked. “Do you think it would help if I…”

“Blightcaller!” Shaw suddenly flared to life, kicking out and struggling in Yurig’s arms. The tauren was hard put to retain his hold on the human until he had secured his grasp. His hands pinioned Shaw against his massive chest.

“Shaw. Glad to have you back with us.”

“F...fuck. Blightcaller...” Shaw’s voice was high with panic.

“Bring him.” Nathanos opened the door. “Put him on the bed. Make certain he doesn't roll off.”

Yurig entered the bedroom, crossing the floor in three tauren-length strides and laid Shaw on the bed. One hand pinned Shaw's chest against the sheets, the other was clamped around the human’s right thigh.

Shaw's unsecured leg kicked against the bed, the only movement that the man was allowed. “So…” he said, desperately cheerful. “Have you got all the details of our schedule hammered out yet? She gets me every other Tuesday? The rest of the time I’m all yours? You’re going to have to work hard to beat some of her records.” Shaw’s gaze dropped to the furred hand on his chest. “I heard tauren dicks are even bigger than the orc ones.”

Yurig’s ears flattened in indignation, though whether that was directed at Shaw or on his behalf Nathanos could not be sure.

“No.” Nathanos seated himself on the bed. He reached out to stroke his fingers over the damp bindings that looped Shaw's chest. “I'm not done with you yet, Shaw. I have no intention of sharing.”

“Not like she's going to give you any choice,” Shaw's voice broke. “She always gets what she wants. Eventually.”

“She will respect my claim,” Nathanos told him sharply. Anger stirred in him again. _Mine_. “She enjoys playing with people, that's all.”

Shaw was gasping for breath again, his heartbeat hammering beneath Nathanos’ fingers. “So, all I have to do is keep you happy and satisfied. Is that it, Blightcaller? Okay. I'm ready to make a deal. I'll bargain. Please.” His voice sounded reedy, between panic induced gasps. “I'll bargain.”

Nathanos' fingers traced the line of an old scar that wandered across the spymaster's chest. "What are you offering me, Shaw?"

"Anything. I'll give you anything."

"I already have you. What more can you give?"

Shaw's lips tightened and the rigidity of his face betrayed his inner struggle. Finally, he swallowed. "I'll...participate. Willingly. In whatever you want."

A wave of desire rolled over Nathanos, calling forth sensations from parts of himself that had been dead for so long. "And what is it that you want in return?"

"Your promise that you won't give me back to Sylvanas. Or to anyone else. When you’re tired of me, you can kill me. But I need to stay dead. I want your word of honor that you won't let me be raised."

“And if I agree, you will participate fully, in this..." Nathanos brushed a hand over his flaccid cock. “You will give to me what you refused to give to her?” His fingers trailed down the length of Shaw’s inner thigh.

"Y...yes." The word was forced from him, a sound of pure misery.

"I will be able to trust you not to try and escape? Or harm yourself?"

"Yes." Shaw’s voice was a broken whisper. "Whatever you want, Blightcaller. I'll give it to you, if I can."

Nathanos absently stroked Shaw’s chest, considered the offer. It was not without its risks. The man had already been violated physically, and now he was prepared to offer up the only part of himself that he had left. His free will.

Would this final surrender put the Shaw that he had first come to know and desire beyond his reach forever?

If so, better to refuse Shaw’s offer and continue as they had started.

No. That was an option that would leave Shaw too vulnerable to Sylvanas’ cruelties. It would eventually break him.

 _It has been so long since I was human. The intricacies of their nature no longer come instinctually to me_.

If Nathanos agreed, the bargain would relieve the worst of Shaw’s fears and give him protection from Sylvanas. That seemed like the most desirable outcome for both of them.

He returned his gaze to Shaw's drawn face. “I accept,” he said.

Shaw’s leg collapsed against the sheet. A muscle twitched uncontrollably just beneath his left eye. “I'll... I'll need some time, Blightcaller. I'm doing my best. It isn't easy for me. Please...just...not yet…”

“I have nothing planned for you but breakfast,” Nathanos reminded him. He signaled for Yurig to release Shaw, and sent him to fetch the tray of food. “Bring the green bottle as well,” he instructed.

Shaw gave the bottle a dubious look as Nathanos raised it to his lips, but drank it without protest. The spymaster closed his eyes, feeling the first flush of healing energy spread through his body. “S’good. Like half a bottle of rum, all at once. Without the hangover, I assume.” There was an oddly contented note in his voice and his expression was free of fear for the first time since Sylvanas had arrived.

Yurig propped him up as Nathanos began to unwind Shaw’s arm bindings. The potion would have healed him enough that the arms could be used without damaging them. Shaw flexed them with a little grimace of relief.

He downed the bowl of soup without stopping for breath, then winced and doubled over, cradling his stomach. The bread he ate in small pinches while Nathanos watched.

Finally, sated and sleepy, he lay back against the down pillows and arranged himself, one knee straight, the other bent, his legs slightly parted. His pale, almost hairless chest rose and fell in a slow, even rhythm. His cock huddled, exposed, on a bed of wiry, red hairs. “How do you want to take me? I’m…I’m feeling pretty good right now,” he said in a low voice. “I think…I can manage.”

Nathanos’ lips twitched at the sight. Shaw was obviously anticipating something unpleasant. He rose, and went to the large bookshelf that made up most of one wall of his bedroom. He selected a book and carried it back, dropping it onto the bed beside the spymaster.

“Book of exotic positions?” Shaw guessed. He paged through it. “Tauren. It’s…a dictionary? I’m not really sure what message you’re trying to send, Blightcaller.”

“Your accent isn’t bad…” Nathanos returned to the shelf and selected a book for himself. History of The Sunwell, translated into Common. “But vocabulary is vital for gathering information. As I’m sure you are aware.”

“You’re going to use me to spy on the tauren?”

“Hardly.” Nathanos seated himself and opened his book to the section marked by the delicate gold chain which served him as a bookmark. “Well, perhaps,” he amended. “If the situation arises.” Mostly, he wanted Shaw’s mind engaged on a task that was purely intellectual. The human had been scraped raw by the events of the day, and he needed something non-threatening to focus on. “Yurig will be able to help with any translation issues and help you with idioms and practice.

“And this…is what I’m going to be doing tonight?” Shaw’s voice was suspicious, as if he was expecting a trick. "Studying a dictionary?"

“Yes.” Nathanos began reading.

“For how long?”

“Until you fall asleep, most likely.”

“And you’ll be…reading all night?”

“Most likely. I don’t need sleep, obviously. Why, what did you imagine I spent my nights doing?”

Shaw cracked open the book. “Torturing small children. Shooting arrows into your enemies’ limbs and privates. Practicing strappado.”

“Hmm.” Nathanos put down his book. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to get any reading done while Shaw was feeling so talkative. “There’s only so much of that you can do before it gets repetitious. I’ve moved on to more entertaining torments.”

“No doubt.” Shaw eyed him. “There was a great deal of speculation about whether or not the undead were capable of..er…”

“Fucking?” suggested Nathanos.

“Exactly.”

“Some of them. Much of it depends on what body parts they have left. And how badly decomposed their body was before they were raised.” There was a great deal more to it than that; body decomposition could be reversed by the consumption of the living, a secret that the Forsaken took pains not to make public. But even more significant was the reduced sensation that was the inevitable result of a body whose nerves were as decayed as the rest of its structure. It wasn’t that the undead could not achieve orgasm, it was that physical sensation played very little part in the process. “Was there anything else that you needed to know about my habits and bodily processes, Shaw?”

There was a pause. Shaw eyed him and chewed on his upper lip. “No,” he said finally. “Nothing.” He returned his gaze to the book in his lap.

Nathanos returned to his reading. By the time he had finished the chapter, a soft rasping was coming from the bed. Shaw had fallen asleep with the book in his hand, sliding sideways off the pillow. Nathanos removed the book and pulled the covers up over him, then returned to his reading for the rest of the night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blightcaller and Shaw have come to an arrangement. But the details of their arrangement will not be as easy to work out as might be hoped.

The day had been unpleasantly eventful. Yurig had taken Shaw out riding in the hills, returning him sunburned and scorpion bitten. Fortunately, not one of the deadly ones. Shaw had been trying to retrieve a pile of once-living remains from a harpy's nest while standing on the shoulders of his kodo. The beast had shifted, sending the man plummeting. Shaw, of course, had landed on his feet; the spymaster had reflexes like a cat. Unfortunately, his foot had come down within reach of a large blue-tailed scorpion, which had reacted with predictable spite.

After dispatching the insect, Yurig had quickly used the contents of his canteen to make a mud poultice for Shaw’s leg, and brought him back to the keep immediately. Half delirious and dripping with sweat, Shaw had been dosed with an antivenom potion and then spent the remainder of the day asleep on Nathanos’ bed.

The sun was no longer slanting through the windows, and the reds and purples were fading from the sky. Nathanos leafed through neatly organized piles of reports sent up from the south shore of Durotar. The Alliance was up to something in the area, and he hadn't quite got the shape of it yet.

Shaw padded by, his bare feet slapping the wooden floorboards. Then he paused. Nathanos felt the man's fingers brush over the top of his head. “You have a cowlick,” Shaw remarked. His fingers traveled down the back of Nathanos’ head, curling round to disappear into the front of his shirt. His explorations had grown quite bold in the face of Nathanos’ non actions. Nathanos couldn’t tell if this was Shaw’s way of ‘baiting the lion’, or if he was simply trying to fulfil the terms of their agreement.

Perhaps it was time to claim what Shaw had been offering, what he had promised to Nathanos in exchange for his safety. Paperwork could wait. A pleasant sense of anticipation filled him as Nathanos reached up to grasp Shaw's wrist. Shaw half-heartedly tried to drag his wrist free, but Nathanos only tightened his grip.

Shaw's breath hitched audibly. “Time to pay the piper, then?” There was a breathy quality to his voice, but Nathanos could not tell if it was arousal or fear.

It didn't matter. Either one would suffice for his needs. Shaw was delicious in any state.

Nathanos lingered for a moment but could not detect any strong signs of distress. It was why he had waited so long, waited for Shaw to reconcile to the idea. He took Shaw's hand in his, turning the man's wrist up and opening the spymaster’s palm. He traced a slow line across the skin of his arm and Shaw shivered.

“Get on the bed.” Nathanos went to the fireplace and removed a hot brick. He returned to his chair and sat, hands wrapped around the ash grey stone. The heat sank into muscle and tendon, hot to the point of discomfort. Had he been planning anything more elaborate than bringing Shaw to arousal and orgasm with his hands, he would have soaked in a hot tub to elevate his body temperature and make his body scent more pleasant.

Shaw watched him curiously, sitting on the edge of the bed. He had removed his boots but was still fully clothed. “You're always doing the unexpected, Blightcaller. If I didn't know better, I’d think you were warming your hands up for my benefit.”

“Warm hands will more effectively accomplish what I require from you,” Nathanos told him with a trace of aspersion.

“And what exactly is the goal here?” An uncertain note had crept into Shaw's voice. “You told me once that you planned on using me in some kind of ritual. Is that where you’re taking me?”

“For now…” Nathanos rose, “all I require is your obedience.” He crossed the floor and sat on the bed beside Shaw. “Remove the rest of your clothing and lie on the bed. On your back.”

Shaw paled slightly, but obeyed Nathanos’ command, stripping off the white shirt and dark trousers that Nathanos had dressed him in that morning. The man’s leg was no longer crusted with mud, but the flesh around the wound was bruised looking and there was a scabbed over incision, which Yurig had made to drain the poison. He winced slightly as he settled himself on the bed. “Tell me what I’m supposed to do, Blightcaller.”

“I intend to.”

Shaw muttered something under his breath, then asked “Is this going to be painful?”

“It's better if you don't anticipate,” Nathanos told him. He wasn’t planning anything that would cause the spymaster discomfort, but eventually Shaw would have to be trained to release control. Successful completion of the ritual would require it.

Scooting himself backward, Shaw closed his eyes and fell back onto the pillow. “Not helping,” he muttered.

Nathanos paused and considered his options, trying to determine his best course of action. If Shaw could not orgasm, Nathanos would be forced to adopt measures that he would prefer not to employ. Or abandon the intent of using Shaw in the ritual for which Nathanos had originally intended him. He needed for Shaw to eventually find pleasure in his touch. It was the reason he had been so patient, allowing Shaw to accustom himself to Nathanos’ presence. Drawing Shaw out, rather than pursuing him.

His effort seemed to have borne fruit. Shaw lay on the bed, not quite at ease but not unacceptably distressed.

Slicking his hands up with oil, Nathanos concentrated his attentions on what he remembered to be the common erogenous zones for most humans. He circled Shaw’s nipples, plucking at them, then moving down to the tender skin of his inner thighs.

Shaw raised his eyes to the ceiling, a look of concentration on his face. His cock was half turgid.

“Put your legs over my shoulders,” Nathanos commanded.

With only a moment of hesitation, Shaw complied. His breathing was controlled and even, and had a slightly forced quality.

Nathanos spread oil over Shaw's thighs, working it carefully into the area between the human’s buttocks. As his finger brushed over the pink circle of Shaw’s anus, the man began to shiver.

Nathanos slipped a finger inside him and Shaw's body clenched. A whimper escaped his lips. His pupils were constructed, making his green eyes almost luminescent in the dim light. His cock was completely flaccid.

Distress, then, and not arousal. Nathanos withdrew his finger and stilled his hands, gently gripping Shaw's thighs. “You are not aroused by this,” he remarked

“I'm sorry, Blightcaller. I'm trying.” Shaw sounded desperate. He tried to push himself upright. “Let me...I'll try harder.”

Nathanos frowned. “I do not believe that would serve.” His understanding of the sexual response of the living would suggest that attempting to force the act would be counterproductive.

“Light...Blightcaller...please.” Shaw's face had grown ashen. “I'm trying.”

“Then...kindly stop trying. I do not require that you orgasm tonight, Shaw.” It occurred to Nathanos that Shaw was afraid he was in danger of breaking their bargain. “I am not unaware of your difficulties, Shaw. Or your efforts to comply with our agreement. This,” he extended a hand still glistening with oil, “was not intended to cause you distress. Only pleasure, if it may be found.”

Shaw collapsed onto the bed, his body shuddering out its relief. He fixed his gaze on Nathanos, eyes drowning. “Tell me what to do, Blightcaller. I can't make myself feel, I can only do what I’m told. Give me an action to perform. Or...use me however you please.”

A slight flash of irritation trickled over Nathanos’ nerves but he was careful not to let it reach his face. Shaw's emotional response was the only thing that he required. Certainly, he had no need for the man's orifices as a repository for his own pleasure, which was obviously what Shaw was expecting. It was not an unreasonable assumption, though, given what that man had been through, and Shaw was not to blame for it.

“What would give you pleasure, Shaw?”

The hunted look returned to Shaw's eyes. “I don't know. I don't know if I'm even capable anymore. I'm trying…” Full body tremors had begun to assert control over the man's limbs.

Nathanos reach down and drew the covers up over his body. “We're done for today, Shaw.”

“Blightcaller...please…” Shaw's fingers closed over Nathanos’ wrist. “There must be something I can do.”

“There is no need for distress, Shaw. I am not displeased with you. You have done well. Relax. I am not displeased,” Nathanos repeated, brushing the hair back from Shaw’s forehead. It was a gesture that could be comforting, he recalled.

Shaw's fingers went limp on his wrist and the hunted look gradually faded from his eyes. His gaze darted about the room as Nathanos stroked his head, occasionally returning to Nathanos’ face, but whether he was seeking instruction or merely looking for reassurance, Nathanos could not tell. Finally, Shaw took a small, shuddering breath and closed his eyes. His fingers slipped free of Nathanos’ wrist.

“We will try again, tomorrow,” Nathanos told him. “But I do not require anything other than a willingness to try.”

Shaw's eyes half opened. “I am trying, Blightcaller. I promise you that I am. But I just can't find it anymore.”

“I know, Shaw. I am not displeased with you.” He continued to stroke Shaw's hair until the man's breathing had slowed and grown even.

Was time the remedy for what ailed the human? Or had the man's sexual responses truly been broken by his ordeal? In retrospect, the cause of his lack of arousal was easy to identify. The spymaster had marshalled his emotional resources to deny Sylvanas control of his sexual pleasure, hiding it away so deeply he could no longer access it even when he wished to do so.

At least, that was what made sense to Nathanos, given the facts at his command. But no remedy suggested itself other than time. Yurig would know what to do. The tauren had a far better understanding of the emotional manipulation of the living than Nathanos did, regardless of species. He carefully rose up from the bed, shuttered the lights in the room, and retired to his study in the adjoining room. In the morning, he would consult Yurig, and perhaps the tauren could suggest a course of action that would unlock Shaw's imprisoned responses.

* * *

Yurig turned the small box over in his hands, trying to figure out its purpose. “You say this is a human toy?”

“They call it a puzzle box,” said Fizzix. “You slide the side down, see how there are walls inside of walls. Slide this wall down,” he poked his small green digit into the box, “and you can reach this second wall. There's a silver ball inside all the walls. Get everything lined up and you can get the ball out.”

“And the ball is the reward?” Yurig was puzzled. “What is it used for?”

“No. Getting the ball is the reward. It's a game for children.” The goblin plucked the box from Yurig’s large hand. “Unless your human has a child size brain, this won't keep his attention for long.”

The goblin went to replace the toy on a large shelf filled with other toys. His shop on the Drag, Unnatural Wonders, was a virtual treasure trove, filled with items from around the world. Some, like the books and clothing, had purposes that were obvious. Others... not so obvious.

“I'm looking for artifacts from the human homeland.” Yurig examined a book whose spine displayed a title written in Human. He knew the language well enough to get by, though he did not often have the opportunity to use it.

“Well...you've found one, then,” Fizzix grinned. “Good job! You've quite the eye, good tauren. I assume you're purchasing on Lord Blightcaller’s line of credit?”

“No. I have gold,” Yurig told him absently. His ears twitched in amusement at the goblin’s quickly concealed disappointment. “But if a sufficient number of acceptable artifacts can be found, I will have to use credit,” he added.

Fizzix brightened up immediately. “Maybe if you told me more about what you were going to do with the artifacts,” he suggested, “I could help you find the right ones.”

“Our human is sad,” Yurig said. “And frightened. And probably missing his home. I wish to find items that will remind him of his home.”

“Err...are you sure you want to do that?” Fizzix scrunched up his face. “It might just make him miss it more...not that I'm trying to talk you out of a sale,” he added hastily, throwing a half panicked glanced around the shop to make sure nobody had witnessed his ungoblin-like lapse.

Yurig reached out to pat the goblin’s head. “You have a good heart, Fizzix. But I will not tell anyone.”

“Err...thanks.” The relief in the goblin’s voice was genuine. “So...human artifacts.” He cleared his throat and then climbed up onto the tall chair pushed against the shop’s main counter and opened the huge inventory book that lay on the well worn surface. “I have a number of toys and games that would remind him of his home.”

“So, you think I should give him toys?” Yurig couldn't help feeling doubtful about the suggestion. “He is a very intelligent human. I think he would feel bored.”

“I thought you said he was sad? Boredom is a different problem.”

“He is sad. And bored. And frightened.”

“You can't be frightened and bored at the same time,” the goblin protested. “That just doesn't...how would that even work?”

“Not at the same time,” Yurig explained patiently.

“All right, let's focus on the worst problem first. Then we'll tackle the others. Bored, frightened, sad. How about angry? Slaves are usually angry about something. And how is his attention span? I've got some herbal remedies…”

“I want him to feel safe,” Yurig declared firmly. “That is the biggest problem.”

“Right,” said Fizzix. “Ok...let me think. Does he have enough armor? Humans feel safer in armor. Metal armor. I could get you a good deal on a set of almost-like-new plate armor, just missing one hand piece…”

“He does not need armor. My lord does not use him for fighting.” And Shaw would not encase himself in metal armor even if he had to fight, Yurig thought. Too noisy.

“Well...what is he used for?”

Yurig considered the question carefully. It was...complicated. “He is a...pleasure slave.” That was the closest category that Yurig could think to put Shaw into. His lord wanted Shaw to feel pleasure.

“Ahhh...that makes a lot more sense. So, something to make him docile? Or do you want an aphrodisiac?”

“No. my lord wishes him to participate. Willingly.”

“Right. Got it. I've got just what you need.” Fizzix hopped down and crossed the floor to pull out a wall drawer filled with glass vials. He selected one, carefully closed the drawer and returned. “Here. Guaranteed to do the job. Just rub it on...instant stiffy. Problem solved.” He beamed at Yurig.

“He would still be frightened even if he was...stiff,” Yurig pointed out.

“Well...yeah...but he could still perform, right? That's the whole point of a pleasure slave.”

“We do not wish him to find the experience unpleasant,” Yurig said firmly. He held the glass bottle up to the light. It was a muddy red color, with darker flecks swirling slowly in the viscous liquid. A thought occurred to him. “Will this work on the Forsaken?”

“Err...well...I've never heard that it didn't work on them,” the goblin hedged. Then he visibly deflated. “No. Wait. There was that one time…” He sighed. “Nope. Guess it doesn't.” He held out his hand for the vial.

“I will keep it,” Yurig told him. It might be useful for his lord to use on the living, in cases where sexual arousal needed to be stimulated.

“Excellent!” The goblin rubbed his hands together. “A tauren of discerning tastes. This is a rare find, a potion imported from Uldum. The ingredients are a closely guarded secret kept by the priesthood...err...I mean the slavers guild. Heh. You know Uldum. Mysterious desert place. Lots of slaves and priests. And big stone statues. You don't need one of those, do you?”

“We were discussing how to make the human less frightened,” Yurig reminded him.

“Right. Hey...I just had a thought. What you need are artifacts from his homeland, but made when he was a child. Remind him of a time when he was happier. We all remember our childhoods as happy, right? Even though they mostly weren't. See, there's this weird thing that happens when you think about things that happened a long time ago and it seems like...but there I go again...”

“That is a good idea,” Yurig told him. Artifacts from Shaw’s childhood...hadn’t the human been raised in Stormwind? He had let drop a few remarks that had given Yurig that impression. “But, as you said, I do not think toys would be appropriate. Human adults do not play with toys.”

“Hmmm...let's see what we've got.” Fizzix paged through his ledger. “How about a blanket? Something made by human hands, in their homelands. Blankets are useful. And comforting.”

“Yes,” said Yurig. “A blanket would be nice. It should be thick and comfortable.”

“And hey, look at this!” Fizzix hopped down and went to poke through a shelf of books, selecting one and returning it to Yurig. “This is a pretty old...err...antique book. For children.” He thrust it into Yurig’s hands. “Take a look. Nice pictures.”

The illustrations were quite lovely. Yurig paged carefully through the book. There was a full-page color picture of a boy and a dog in a forest. On another page, a cozy looking human dwelling with smoke rising from the chimney. Yurig wondered if Shaw had grown up in such a place. In another picture, the boy seemed older, and he was carrying a bow, with arrows in a quiver slung over his back. A hunter, perhaps? “I'll take it.”

“Fantastic! Now...let's tackle his ‘sad’. There's a human beverage that is considered quite comforting…”

When Yurig left Fizzix’s shop an hour later, his arms were full of treasures and Fizzix was grinning so widely Yurig had the whimsical thought that if the goblin was any happier, the corners of his mouth would meet behind his head and the top of it would fall off.

Yurig just hoped his lord wouldn't be annoyed at the interest charges.

* * *

Nathanos reclined comfortably in a chair in his sitting room. He had been summoned there by Yurig, who had looked quite pleased with himself as he delivered the invitation. Nathanos assumed it was because his shopping trip to Orgrimmar had proved successful, and he wished to display to Nathanos and Shaw the fruits of his labor.

“Should I be worried about this?” Shaw shivered a little in the cold of the morning, dressed in only his smalls, while Yurig built up the fire. The spymaster threw a nervous glance at Nathanos, who was also in his smalls. Yurig wore nothing but a simple loincloth.

“No more worried than is normal,” the tauren told him blandly.

“Not helping,” Shaw muttered.

“There is a blanket laid over that chair.” Yurig gestured. “Spread it here on the floor in front of the fire.”

Shaw rolled to his feet and padded over to the comforter. He frowned down at it as he picked it up, examining it. “Where did this come from? It looks like…” he broke off and returned to spread it over the cold floorboards.

“Does the blanket displease you?” Nathanos inquired. He had grown quite familiar with the human’s reactions, but could not always interpret them correctly. There was nothing obviously offensive about the thick, quilted fabric. It was a faded shade of blue with white and green scrollwork.

“No. It just…looked familiar.”

Yurig quirked his ears with pleasure as he blew gently on the coals in the hearth and added a few more small bits of wood. Soon the blaze was substantial enough that he could add larger logs.

“So...what's happening here?” Shaw asked. He eyed the large satchel that Yurig had brought in with him. “Or is it a surprise?”

“I do not think you like surprises.” Yurig seated himself on the comforter.

“No,” said Shaw. “I really don't.” His eyes reflected his uncertainty. “What are we doing?”

“We are going to help you find your pleasures again,” Yurig told him placidly. He separated his legs with a grunt of effort and patted the comforter between them.

Shaw froze, staring with apprehension at Yurig’s loincloth. “Don't think they're going to be my pleasures,” he said quietly.

“Come.” Yurig patted the coverlet again. “We will not be doing anything that frightens you or causes you pain.”

“Yurig will not be fucking you,” Nathanos told him. It had occurred to him that Shaw would need to know that before he could comfortably tolerate intimate contact with Yurig’s body.

“Not yet?” There was a faint, bitter challenge in Shaw's voice. He met Nathanos’ gaze and held it.

Nathanos smiled. It was good to witness even so small a recovery of Shaw’s spirit. “Not ever. It is not one of the paths to his pleasures.” It was a phrase that he had picked up from Yurig, who had strong opinions on the subject of pleasures. Actually, Yurig had strong opinions on most subjects.

Yurig’s ears flopped over and he gave Nathanos an adoring look. “My lord knows all the paths to my pleasures,” he rumbled. “None of them involve penetrating small, badly damaged humans who would be unable to properly appreciate my very large gifts.”

Nathanos chuckled and reached over to fondly tug Yurig’s ears.

Shaw stared uncertainly at Yurig, but eventually allowed himself to be lured into occupying the space between the tauren’s spread legs. He sat there, uncomfortable and apprehensive, as Yurig opened his satchel. The tauren brought out a covered pot with an iron lid, tightly clamped down, and three ceramic mugs. A book followed the mugs, and then a ceramic pot, lid securely tied with twine.

Nathanos watched as Yurig unclamped the pot’s lid and used it to fill the mugs, handing one to Shaw and the other to Nathanos, leaving one for himself. Nathanos sipped the steaming brown liquid; it was faintly sweet, and the flavor of it was familiar, but Nathanos could not remember where he had tasted it.

“Hot chocolate.” Shaw's hands cradled the cup, clutching it to his chest. He took a few small sips and then, with a defiant look, abruptly drained the mug, choking as it scalded his throat. His body went rigid as he waited for the burn to fade. “Okay,” he gasped finally. “What's next?”

“Would you like more?” Yurig asked, a slight hint of reproach in his voice.

“Y...yes.” Shaw's reply was uncertain.

Yurig’s ears tipped toward Nathanos in inquiry.

Nathanos schooled his expression into something mimicking patience and nodded. “I am at your pleasure, Yurig.” It was a phrase that Yurig would know meant that he was to take as much time as he wished, and that Nathanos was prepared to follow Yurig’s lead, regardless of where it would wander. He wasn't certain what the point of such ceremonies was, but presumably Yurig had a plan.

Shaw sipped at his second helping of chocolate with an expression of self-conscious bliss. “Didn't know you had chocolate here. Imported?”

“The Nixit Trading Company has branches in most of the major regions of the Eastern Kingdoms, Northrend and Pandaria,” Yurig told him. “There is an independent agent with an office on the Drag. He specializes in human antiquities and collectibles. He told me humans were quite fond of this beverage and instructed me as to its preparation. Does it give you pleasure?”

Confusion etched itself into Shaw's features. “Yes,” he admitted. “I guess. But…”

“Sexual pleasure is a thing to be desired,” Yurig rumbled. “But there are many pleasures. Memory is a pleasure. Revisiting the scents and sounds and tastes of our childhoods. Do you not find it so, my lord?” he asked, focusing his ears hopefully on Nathanos.

“Do not draw me into this discussion.” Nathanos sipped his chocolate, knowing Yurig would not take his words as reproval. “Pleasures are weakness that the Forsaken do not pursue as ardently as you living do.”

Yurig gave him a skeptical look. “Perhaps. Not for yourself, my lord,” he murmured. He leaned over to set the capped ceramic jar close to the fire.

Pretending disinterest, Shaw sipped his chocolate, but Nathanos could see his eyes darting about, taking everything in with the man’s characteristic mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

Yurig then took out a small, leather-bound book. “Fizzix told me this was made in a human city named Lakeshire. He said the leather was taken from pigs native to the region and the story was about a real person from that city. It sounded interesting.”

“Huh,” Shaw remarked. Much of the tension had gone from his body. “Not where I grew up, but I’ve been there many times.”

It was an interesting plan, Nathanos mused. Taking Shaw back to his childhood in order to distance him from more recent traumas.

Yurig folded back the cover of the book, and began to read “In the dead of winter, in a small cabin tucked into the foothills behind Lakeshire, a young trapper huddled next to the fireplace with a flop eared hound named Wolf and his last three arrowheads…”

There was a pained look on Shaw’s face as he listened. “Is something wrong, Shaw?” Nathanos inquired as innocently as he could manage. Yurig was intentionally mangling some of the words, he was certain. The tauren’s command of the Human language wasn't as good as Nathanos’, but it was better than he was letting on.

Shaw gave him a suspicious look. The human had not lost any of his instincts. Like a wolf on a game trail, he had caught the scent of some sort of deception but he hadn't yet been able to identify the source. “Why are we sitting on the floor listening to Yurig read a book? Doesn't seem quite your style, Blightcaller.”

“I am indulging Yurig.” It was mostly the truth. “He enjoys exploring the artifacts from other cultures.”

“Am I getting the pronunciation correct?” Yurig inquired.

“It's... fine,” said Shaw.

“Perhaps you would like to take over?” Yurig suggested, offering Shaw the book. “Your language is difficult to pronounce.”

After a moment of hesitation, Shaw accepted the book. His fingers caressed the leather cover briefly before opening it and picking up the narrative where Yurig had left off. “The massive hound had been his friend and protector for fifteen years, sleeping at the foot of his bed every night, stalking beside him as the skilled hunter moved silently through the forest. But now his old companion had grown grizzled and gaunt, barely able to rise from the floor…”

It was obvious that this was a story Shawn must have heard many times before. His voice rose and fell in a smooth, sure cadence. He barely hesitated, and at times seemed not to be looking at the words at all. The narrative ended on a somber note. A sad story, Nathanos mused. It might not have been the best choice.

Shaw set the book down on his lap. His eyes were distant. “My gram used to read that story to me,” he volunteered. “I think she was trying to impress on me the importance of doing what needed to be done, putting aside your feelings. Not the lesson I took away, at that age.” He set the book aside, unease creeping back into his posture. “So…” His voice trailed off.

Yurig reached down to retrieve the ceramic jar. He removed the top and tested the temperature of the liquid inside with the tip of one finger. “Warm,” he pronounced. “Shaw, remove your clothing and lie on your back.”

The look in Shaw's eyes was more resigned than uncomfortable as he slid his smalls down over his hips and arranged his body obediently on the comforter.

“My lord,” Yurig invited, indicating the position to Shaw’s right, and Nathanos settled himself on the soft blanket beside Shaw's body. 

Shaw's hands tightened on the blanket, arms stiffly at his sides. “Look, Blightcaller, you know I'm prepared to do whatever you tell me. Just...can’t you give me a hint, here?”

“I do not know what Yurig has planned.” Nathanos gave the tauren an inquiring look.

“I have lavender scented oil. We are going to be rubbing it on Shaw.”

“What does this lavender scented oil do?” Shaw asked.

“It smells nice. That is all.” Yurig oiled his hands and passed the jar to Nathanos, who spilled the clear liquid over his palm and then set the jar aside.

“Arms are the best place to start,” Yurig instructed. “Or the back, but we want him facing up, I think.”

“Why the arms?” Nathanos felt his curiosity begin to stir. _Shaw's care is now my responsibility. I need to reacquaint myself with the needs of the living_.

“People are accustomed to having their hands touched. It is seldom perceived as a threat. Once he's accustomed to being touched, we will move on to the more sensitive areas.”

Nathanos carefully mirrored Yurig’s movements, compressing the muscles of Shaw’s hand, running his thumb firmly down the man's wrist, pressing gently into the rigid muscles until they begin to relax, then digging in more strongly. He stopped frequently to refresh the oil on his hands.

Shaw watched them with a vaguely puzzled expression. “Not that I'm in any position to complain,” he said finally, “but you do realize that being touched isn't exactly something that you need to get me used to.”

“Being touched with kindness, Shaw,” Yurig told him.

The breath was forced from Shaw’s lungs, and the strength of his own reaction seemed to catch him off guard. “I don't...I'm not…”

“Nothing is expected of you. You do not need to experience pleasure if you do not wish to do so.” Yurig threw a quick glance at Nathanos, who nodded to confirm his agreement. “Merely allow yourself to be touched.”

“I can do that.” Shaw's voice was slightly breathless.

“You are doing well,” Nathanos told him. “Your obedience has exceeded my expectations. But then, you have always exceeded my expectations.” He let a touch of admiration, perhaps even fondness, flavor his tone. His fingers slipped beneath Shaw's neck, pulling down, his thumb brushing over the man's collarbone.

Shaw took a long, shuddering breath and let it out. “Okay, Blightcaller.” His tone seemed halfway between wistful and resigned. “I'm going to take you at your word. You’ve been pretty straight with me. All I have to do is lie here and let myself be touched? Doesn't sound...too terrible.”

Nathanos’ hands traveled the length of Shaw's body, over the scarred chest, the slender waist, the lean, muscular thighs. Then down past his calves. Shaw squirmed slightly as Nathanos’ fingers dug into his foot, invading the sensitive areas between his toes. His cock firmed, becoming almost rigid when Nathanos transferred his attentions to the back of Shaw's knees. For a time, he simply explored Shaw's body, making note of the human's reactions.

Yurig sat back, ears inclined forward in approval. His fingers plucked at Shaw's untidy mop of hair, pulling through the strands, petting him. “That is good, my lord. Keep your fingers moving, but do not lose contact with his body.”

Nathanos’ fingers traveled up the inside of Shaw’s thigh, brushing over his balls, and then slipped down between. Shaw gasped and tensed at the contact, his cock losing its firmness.

“Sorry...” Shaw choked. “Trying. Didn’t expect that…”

“If anything frightens or displeases you, Shaw, you should tell me. At least, for today. I cannot promise that will always be the case,” Nathanos told him. “For today, I will not touch you anywhere that gives you discomfort.” He resumed his slow, gentle manipulations until Shaw had relaxed, his half-lidded eyes following the movements of Nathanos’ hands. He made an appreciative noise when Nathanos ran his fingers along the juncture between thigh and belly, squirming a little as Nathanos’ explorations grew bolder.

“I like that,” he gasped. “It's...good. Will you…” His gaze darted up to meet Nathanos’, then away. “Will you let me tell you what I like? What…works?”

“Of course, Shaw.” Nathanos frowned at his own lack of perception. It was a suggestion that ought to have occurred to him. Giving Shaw more control over the process would make it less threatening.

“Stay there...now lower...you can touch me there...yes...now, take a hold of me...yes…” The spymaster’s skin flushed and Nathanos could see the muscles of Shaw’s neck beginning to tighten as his arousal reached its peak.

Nathanos speeded up his strokes, keeping them even and firm…

...then Shaw made a low, keening noise and his cock softened. “Can’t...I can't do it…” There was a helpless anxiety lurking behind his eyes. “Can't let go.”

“It is all right, Shaw.” Yurig stroked his face. “Perhaps you should see it as a good thing. My lord will be able to continue to give you more pleasure.”

Suddenly, Shaw's cock was swelling, filling Nathanos’ hand. He stroked firmly upward, again and again...and Shaw was convulsing, his body arching, the expression on his face speaking more of pain than pleasure but the pulsing spurts of cum attested to his attainment of his release.

Nathanos squeezed him twice more, then let Shaw's turgid cock slip from his fingers. Yurig handed him a soft cloth and he cleaned the evidence of Shaw's orgasm from his skin. “You did well, Shaw,” he murmured. “You are extraordinary.” Nathanos reached up to brush his fingers across Shaw's chin.

The spymaster shivered but did not try to pull away. “Doesn't take much to impress you, Blightcaller.”

“More than you know,” Nathanos assured him. He folded the blanket across Shaw's lower body. “When you have recovered, there is a chapter that I would like you to study in my history of Stormwind. Some of the passages confuse me and I wish to know if it is because of the phrasing, or there was a deliberate omission on the author’s part. I assume you are well-versed in the subject?”

“I...yes...I know my history.” Shaw seemed slightly dazed.

“Good. Did you manage to find some degree of pleasure in the experience?”

“I suppose. Not the best I ever had, but...not…not terrible.” He swallowed.

“Good. No doubt the quality of your orgasm will improve with practice.”

There was a choked snort from Shaw. “That sounded almost normal, for you. At least, normal for the Blightcaller I remember from before. Although it could have done with a bit more bite. You've been going easy on me, haven't you? I keep wondering when…” He broke off. “Listen to me. Post-orgasmic rambling. To you, of all people.”

“Hmm,” Nathanos remarked. He rose to his feet. “Get yourself sorted. If I do not see you at your desk in half an hour, I will come in search of you.”

“And then felfire will flow?”

“No. If your orgasms debilitate your brain to the extent that you cannot manage to find your way back to your desk afterward, I will be forced to sit with you after we repeat this experience tomorrow until you are ready to be escorted back.”

Shaw allowed his eyes to roll slightly, but didn’t seem displeased by the prospect.

“I will sit with him, my lord,” Yurig offered. “There is more hot chocolate.”

Nathanos nodded and made his way across the floor. At the doorway, he paused and looked back. Shaw’s eyes were closed, and one of his arms was flung out, fingers resting against the tauren’s thigh. Yurig gazed down at Shaw, his fingers caressing the human’s hair. He had become attached, Nathanos realized. If something were to happen to Shaw, Yurig would be devastated.

 _I must find a way to assure that my possession of Shaw will be permanent. He cannot be allowed to slip away from us_. Nathanos’ thoughts were troubled as he made his way back to his rooms.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathanos and Shaw have come to an arrangement, but much of what Nathanos remembers of the spymaster has been lost, and he doesn't know how to return Shaw to what he was.

Nathanos sat at his desk, trying to concentrate on the five page report which had been forwarded to him from one of the Horde’s Stranglethorn agents, regarding repeated skirmishes between the pirates that anchored near Jaguero Island, and a single human staffed ship which had been haunting the eastern coast of Stranglethorn. The ship refused to fly its colors, and had been seen repeatedly in various bars and other gathering places, asking questions. There were rumors of a gryphon seen launching from the ship’s deck, so Nathanos assumed it was some kind of covert Alliance operation.

He wasn’t certain why the report had been passed on to him. Booty Bay had long been considered neutral territory, and the presence of an Alliance ship was hardly news. Nathanos put it aside and leaned slowly back in his chair, taking a moment to study the room’s only other occupant. Shaw was deep in study, paging through the tauren vocabulary text and scribbling notes on the sheets of parchment that Yurig had obtained for him. The tauren inscriptionist Seda Dawnstrider was a childhood friend of Yurig’s and provided him with imperfect papers to practice his scripting on.

Shaw was holding halting conversations with Yurig in his native language. When he wasn’t doing a specific task, or with Yurig, Shaw trailed in Nathanos’ wake, like a silent, introspective shadow. He followed Nathanos’ orders to the letter, never complaining about being ordered about. He had tried twice more to offer himself to Nathanos, seeming bewildered when Nathanos simply ignored his efforts. Yurig had advised Nathanos that repeated sexual use would only cause Shaw to retreat further into himself. It troubled Nathanos, but then, there were so many things about Shaw that troubled him.

Occasionally, Nathanos could see glimmers of Shaw’s keen wit and inquisitive mind surface, but there was little of the man himself there. The spymaster used to be quite immaculate in his dress and appearance, Nathanos recalled. Now he had no care at all for such concerns. His beard and hair were getting shaggy, and he wore whatever Nathanos gave him, regardless of fit or appearance. _So much of him has been lost_. Nathanos, once again, felt the pain of that loss like a small, thin blade inserted between his ribs.

 _How do I retrieve him? Is it even possible? How can I reconnect him with what he was_?

He would have to be reminded of who he had once been. It was possible that he might recover with time, but it was equally likely that he would become someone else. Nathanos had seen it happen before. Sylvanas liked to wipe her enemies clean and remake them.

Nathanos cleared his throat and waited until Shaw was giving him his attention.

“Shaw. It occurs to me that I know very little about you, aside from what was gathered by our spies and from interrogations. Tell me about your life from before. Your life as famed assassin and spymaster.”

A frozen look broke out over Shaw's features. “Any secrets which I had will be outdated by now. My second-in-command will have moved to hide and change anything that I might endanger...”

“I'm not interested in your state secrets, Shaw. I want to know about you. What leisure activities did you enjoy?”

The frozen alarm melted into confusion. Shaw gave him a look of unguarded bewilderment. “Why would you...” he stopped. “I didn't...I didn't really have any leisure. Fishing, sometimes. Fl...I would go sit on the dock with...with a fishing pole and just…”

It was obvious that Shaw was leaving details off his narrative. “Who did you fish with?”

Shaw's shoulders tightened and his hands gripped the sides of his chair. Then he forced himself to relax. “Usually by myself.”

“Lying to me is a waste of time, you know. You’re not particularly good at it these days.”

Shaw flinched, as if Nathanos had struck him. “I spent a lot of time on the docks of Boralus.”

“Keep going. Don’t force me to send spies down to Kul Tiras to ferret out all your secrets, Shaw. Better to simply give me what I want.”

“There’s no big secret to be found, Blightcaller. There was an ex-pirate who would occasionally keep me company. He knew all the right places to fish and the right baits to use. Crabbing. We…I did some crabbing as well. And if I had time on my hands, I’d sometimes take a skiff…”

The spymaster was trying to steer him away from something. Nathanos guessed it had something to do with the ex-pirate. “Was he your lover?”

Shaw fixed his eyes determinedly on the floor, trying to hide the way his breath hitched. “Yes,” he admitted, finally.

“And what was his name?” Nathanos inquired.

“Please,” Shaw said hoarsely, his eyes fastening on Nathanos’. “Please don't bring him into this. His name doesn't matter. He'll have moved on by now. He was never one to let grass grow beneath his feet.”

“What was his name?” Nathanos repeated.

Shaw tore his gaze away from Nathanos’ and stared bleakly at the wall.

“The name, Shaw. We have a bargain.”

Shaw’s eyes closed, defeat soaking into his expression. “The bargain’s off, Blightcaller.” He folded his arms across his knees, and his head fell forward, forehead pressed against his forearms.

“Did Sylvanas ask you for his name?” Nathanos rose and went to stand beside Shaw.

“Yes.” Shaw's voice was muffled. His limbs wrapped more tightly together.

“And you never told her his name,” Nathanos guessed. “No matter what she did.”

Shaw's head rose slowly. “No.” His green eyes glittered up at Nathanos from beneath the tangled strands of his hair. “I suppose you're going to point out that once I'm dead and enslaved his name will be forced from me anyway.”

Nathanos gave him a dry smile. “I could. But I won't. Come. Our bargain is still in effect. I withdraw the question. Keep your lover's name a secret if it is that important to you.”

Shaw sagged slightly, his expression once again bewildered.

“Come,” Nathanos held out his hand.

Shaw took it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. “Where are we going?” he asked as Nathanos handed him a hooded cloak and led him to the door.

“It has been a very long time since I was fishing,” Nathanos told him. “I believe I shall reacquaint myself with the process. “

* * *

The sky was a clear, cloudless blue. Nathanos and Shaw hiked along the beach. Hair flung wildly about by the wind, Shaw's face seemed almost painfully radiant. He kept glancing up at the sky, letting the sun fall across his face. The reddish growth that carpeted his chin and sideburns gleamed like newly-minted copper. His mustache turned upward in an elegant curl.

His eyes darted in one direction and then another, taking everything in, as if the world had become something new and wonderful.

Ordinarily Nathanos would have had little interest in an uninhabited beach, but somehow Shaw's enthusiasm was infectious and Nathanos found himself focusing his attentions on his surroundings. A small gray bird hopped across a smooth stretch of wet sand. Ripples of wind blew small waves across the field of grasses. A rabbit paused, huddled in the shadow of a boulder encrusted with barnacles.

“Here,” said Shaw, pointing to a jetty of tumbled rocks that extended some twenty feet out into the gently rolling surf. “See how it curves around and provides a windbreak. And it’s deeper. We might catch something here.”

They clambered over the rocks. Shaw slipped on their slick surface several times. His body was still far from being healed. Nathanos stayed as close as he was able, preventing Shaw from tumbling into the surf with a fist clenching the back of the man's cloak.

“Slippery,” Shaw remarked. He didn't seem at all perturbed by his near fall. “Maybe next time we should try a proper dock.” His eyes strayed to Nathanos, then back to the ocean. “Assuming there is a next time.”

They settled themselves on a high, flat rock, relatively free of encrusted sea life. Shaw huddled in his cloak, baiting his hook and tossing it into the dark water.

Nathanos followed suit. The fishing tackle had been acquired for him by Verill, one of his personal guards. He hadn't asked where she had obtained the gear, and she hadn't volunteered the information.

If Shaw was to be reconnected with his former life, it would be most likely done by forcing him to recall details that he would have to work at remembering. Preferably something that Sylvanas hadn’t tried to take from him.

“Tell me something about Genn Greymane,” Nathanos challenged. “Something that isn't public knowledge.”

Shaw’s body stiffened beneath the cloak. “What kind of information are you asking for?”

“As I said. Something that isn't public knowledge.”

There was a tug on Shaw’s line and he hauled in a small fish. “This is a salted grouper,” he told Nathanos. “Named for the gray speckles across its back. Not good eating.” He carefully removed the hook from the fish's mouth and tossed it back into the ocean.

“Greymane,” Nathanos reminded Shaw as he was re-baiting his took.

There was a long silence, as Shaw tossed his line far out into the sheltered area of the bay, staring out across it with a guarded expression. Finally, he took a long breath, as if some internal decision had been reached. “He gets the hiccups,” Shaw told him. “If he drinks water too quickly.”

Nathanos felt the corners of his mouth twitch upward at the image. “In his human form only?”

“Both.” Shaw gave a small snort at the memory.

“And what about Anduin Wrynn? Tell me one of his secrets.”

Another wary look, but Shaw's hesitation was shorter this time. “He enjoys having his hair washed.”

The human king’s golden hair was legendary, even in Kalimdor. “I imagine he’s quite vain about it.”

“Not so much as you’d think. He’s not…that way. There’s a goodness in him,” Shaw said wistfully. “An innocence. He’s not like anyone else. Yurig…reminds me of him, a little.” His head drooped. “Sylvanas hates him. She’d destroy him if she could. But I’m sure you knew that already.”

It was hardly a secret. Everyone who’d spent time with her was aware of it, and of her rage at those who kept her from attaining her goal, including the Alliance’s spymaster. But Nathanos knew that destroying the “little lion” wasn’t what she really wanted. At least, it wasn’t his life she wanted to destroy. Just his innocence. The light that glowed inside him. She wanted to corrupt him, to make him just like her.

Like Nathanos. Cold. Empty. Sylvanas thought that it was the only comfort that they would ever have, to be emptied of their pain. Sometimes Nathanos wondered if she were right. Driven out by their former communities, barely tolerated by the Horde…it was only Sylvanas’ position as warchief that gave the Forsaken a refuge in their war-torn land.

Eventually the sunlight was chased away by a sweep of light grey clouds, and a spatter of rain troubled the gentle waves protected by the jetty. They continued fishing for a time, but caught nothing that Shaw pronounced edible. The mood had turned somber. Eventually, they returned to the keep.

* * *

“He’s been asking for news,” Yurig told Nathanos as they stood together before the window in Nathanos’ private study.

“What kind of news?”

“First he just asked about Baine. I had mentioned that he was my cousin, so I didn’t think much of it when he started asking me about him. Mostly I told him stories about growing up with Baine, but when I mentioned that Baine had been sent to Stormwind to meet with the king…”

Something had gone out of Shaw since that day on the beach. In reconnecting him with his former life, it had seemed to re-awake the awareness of all that he had lost. Nathanos had noticed, but hoped Shaw’s melancholy was a thing that would pass.

“He wanted to hear the details. He…Lord Nathanos,” Yurig’s voice was tight with distress. “The human is in such pain.”

Several months had passed since Nathanos and Shaw had made their agreement. During that time, Shaw had kept his part of the bargain faithfully. He did as he was instructed, thus far had made no attempt to escape, at least not that Nathanos had noticed.

Had he been the spymaster of old, nothing could have kept him imprisoned in the keep for long. Nathanos wondered if it were his promise that prevented him from leaving, or if Shaw had simply given up.

“What should I do?” Yurig sighed. “About his request.”

Nathanos frowned. Frustration tightened his hands against the stone surface. Would more news from his former home satisfy Shaw’s need, or would it only leave him emptier?

You cannot have one without the other.

A Mathias Shaw who was content to be Nathanos’ pet…would not be Mathias Shaw, spymaster, assassin, strategist.

As Shaw’s spirit grew stronger, so would his desire to be free.

Would it be such a bad thing? In truth, Nathanos would not be displeased should Shaw plan and execute an escape attempt. Not even if it succeeded. Were Shaw able to accomplish such a coup, Nathanos would not begrudge him. Although he would miss the man’s presence. And if it did not succeed, well, there was the delicious anticipation of Shaw being dragged back to him, defiance written all over that unrepentant face.

“Give him what he wants,” Nathanos instructed Yurig. “Write to Baine. Give him the impression that you are interested in learning more about the Alliance, and about Baine’s interactions with it. And mention Rio Larrek to Shaw.” Rio Larrek was a Kul Tiran spy who Nathanos had managed to acquire and eventually turn. He fed Rio appropriate tidbits to take back to his contact in Boralus, using these reports as an excuse to carry out Nathanos’ business. “Hint that if Shaw wants to send a message, Rio might be willing.”

“Behind your back, my lord?”

“Of course. You are already sympathetic to him; it shouldn’t surprise him too much.”

Yurig’s ears flattened in distress.

Nathanos sighed. “Never mind. Do as you please, Yurig. Tell him whatever you like. I leave it to your discretion.” Yurig had a much better instinct for the living than Nathanos, even those of a different species.

“Thank you, my lord,” Yurig told him soberly. “I’d rather not deceive him, if you do not require it of me. I am not skilled at it, and he is, or was, a man who rooted out falsehoods for a living.”

“Keep me informed.” Nathanos nodded a dismissal and returned to his troubled contemplation.

* * *

“Baine is returning to Orgrimmar next week. He’ll be addressing the council regarding the Alliance’s latest attempt at peace mongering,” Sylvanas sniffed contemptuously. “They never learn. Pathetic.” She leaned back in her chair, stretching out her legs and raising the goblet of wine to her lips. She took a sip, her eyes on Shaw, who sat cross legged at Nathanos’ feet, his head tucked down almost to his chin, his shoulder pressing against Nathanos’ leg.

The two orcs who had come with Sylvanas kept their eyes fixed on Shaw as well. They stood behind the banshee queen’s chair, their bulging loincloths indicating the direction of their thoughts.

If the orcs were who he suspected them to be, it was no surprise that Shaw was distressed. Nathanos shrugged. “If it keeps them from declaring war, then let them wave their proposals about. Azshara must be dealt with before we can afford to waste resources fighting the Alliance.”

“I suppose,” Sylvanas said indifferently. “You should put him in a collar. He has the neck for it; it looks lovely on him. And he trains well. If you’d like, Ruk can put him up on the table and we can show you some of the clever tricks he learned.”

Shaw had grown somewhat resistant to her jibes, so Sylvanas was obviously escalating. “I thought we were discussing serious matters, my queen,” Nathanos frowned. “When will Baine return? And is he returning alone, or will there be a delegation with him?”

“They’re keeping that information close,” Sylvanas told him sourly. “I don’t even know what ship they’ll be taking, so I may not be able to get anyone on board before they clear Stormwind.” She steepled her fingers and pressed them against her lips. “I don’t like this. It’s a fool’s move. The little lion is many things, but he is not a fool. They’re up to something.” Then her eyes narrowed. “Bring your pet. There will be undercurrents and secrets flying about, and he’s the best tool we have for sorting it all out.”

“Out of the question,” said Nathanos flatly. “I don’t want it known that I have him in my possession.”

“I don’t expect you to parade him about in his leash and collar, however amusing that would be. Cover him up in a Shroud. Or simply keep him hidden, though that would make him less useful. I want to know who the SI:7 agents are and what they’re chatting about.”

“You’ve got other resources who can read SI:7 signals.”

“But none who do it so well. And it would be an opportunity for you to test his usefulness. If he is not useful, Nathanos, he has no place in the Horde.”

There was a sharp edge to her words that told Nathanos he would be unwise to ignore them. “I suppose it would do no harm. Maybe he’ll pick up on something that we don’t. At the very least, he knows most of the principles who might be involved and he can assess them for me.”

“Good. It’s settled, then.” Sylvanas rose up from her chair. “Have him prepared and ready to be transported to Orgrimmar by early next week. That will give you several days to acclimate him to his new role. He’ll need to become familiar with the city.”

“Of course, my queen.” Nathanos suspected the spymaster would already have more than a passing familiarity with Orgrimmar’s layout.

Sylvanas approached. She stooped and hooked Shaw’s chin, forcing his face up.

Shaw shuddered, but didn’t pull away. His breathing became shallow and quick.

“We could take him together, Nathanos. From the front and behind. Or perhaps both from behind.” She reached out, taking Nathanos’ hand and placing it on Shaw’s face, beneath her own, twining their fingers together beneath Shaw’s chin. “He’d make the most exquisite noises, I promise. I trained him just to your tastes, you know. Ah, Nathanos, you and I…we used to be so good together. Whatever happened?” Her voice trailed off into almost a wistful note, and against his will Nathanos felt something inside himself struggle to respond.

Ruthlessly, he put it away. “Time, my lady. Even the Forsaken are not immune to its ravages. Such passions are a thing of memory for me and yours, my lady, have gone to a place where I cannot follow.”

It was not simply that her passions had gotten more out of control. That, he could have embraced. Nor was it the sadistic impulses that having her soul ripped from her body had given her; those he could have forgiven, knowing that she was not entirely to blame. It was the notion that to be Forsaken was to be selfish, to be evil, that disturbed him. That none of them should be given a choice in who they served or loved or what they believed, that they must abandon everything of their former lives.

The Horde allowed those choices, even embraced them. A diverse melting of cultures, and a tradition that allowed for individuality…that was what the Horde proudly stood for. The Alliance, with its insistence on deciding for others what was right and wrong, was much less forgiving of the rebel spirit. And yet, even the Alliance condemned slavery.

Baine would not approve of what was being done to Shaw, if he knew. And neither would Saurfang, for that matter. “We’ll need to keep his identity secret, from everyone. Not just the Alliance.”

“Pity.” Her lips curved into a speculative smile. “But you are probably right. We cannot afford a war right now.” She straightened, leaving only Nathanos’ hands cupping Shaw’s face. Her eyes flicked between Shaw and the orcs. “Well, another time, perhaps. I have matters to attend to. I could leave them with you, if you like,” she offered.

“I have Yurig,” he told her blandly. “But thank you.”

She gave a surprised bark of amusement. “Of course. The tauren. Nathanos, you are a delight. Only you could have happened upon a tauren who enjoys pain play and bondage. Or did you train him yourself? I shall leave you to your pleasures, then.” Before he could decide whether a reply was necessary, she swept out of the room, trailed by the orcs.

Nathanos pulled the spymaster’s body against him. “Shaw.” He dug his fingers into Shaw’s hair and drew them through the ginger strands, tugging gently. The man’s tremors eventually subsided. His resilience in the face of Sylvanas’ cruelties had increased, but was far from adequate.

“She doesn’t know him very well, does she? Yurig.” It was more a plea for reassurance than a statement. _Give me something to count on, someone to trust_. “He has been kind to me.”

“No. She doesn’t.” _And yet, she does_.

“She doesn’t…know you. Very well.” Shaw’s words were halting, as if he was aware of walking on uncertain ground.

“Perhaps.” In some ways, nobody knew him better. But to some extent, Shaw was correct in this as well. Sylvanas saw only what she wanted to see, these days. Nathanos released Shaw’s hair and sat back in his chair. “I’ll need to leave for Orgrimmar immediately. Go, stay with Yurig until I return for you.”

He didn’t like leaving Shaw alone. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the man to stay out of trouble, but there was always the potential for things going wrong, and he didn’t yet have a feel for how this new version of Shaw could handle himself. He seemed so fragile, at times.

“What…am I supposed to do while you’re gone?” There was an oddly plaintive note to the question.

“Whatever amuses you. As long as Yurig approves. I’ll be back in two days.”

Shaw’s head drooped. His eyes stared, unseeing, at the floor.

It’s just the aftermath of Sylvanas’ visit, Nathanos reasoned. Yurig would be able to lift the human’s spirits. But as he shut the door behind him, he couldn’t escape the growing sense that things were not well with Shaw and he had no idea what the remedy might be.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathanos needs to prepare Shaw for his new role as spy for the Horde. Not something Shaw is likely to enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, a giant HUZZAH! (sounds of hysterical screaming)
> 
> Fairshaw is canon! We at the Armada are over the moon about it. Can't wait for Shadows Rising to come out...
> 
> I'm so excited to be posting this story during this historic event :) And, BTW, in case anyone is inclined to wonder, *yes* we are absolutely going to have some strong Fairshaw action in this story. Wait for it, though...

Nathanos sat and watched the two tailors he had sent for from Orgrimmar, swarming all over Shaw with their measuring tapes. Swatches of fabric lay across chair backs and hung from hastily constructed racks in a small downstairs parlor.

“He's a bit on the short side,” the purple haired goblin complained. “And too broad. I'm not sure how we're going to disguise that,” she fretted. “There’s just too much flesh on him.”

“Perhaps we can exaggerate, Portia,” suggested the tall, cadaverous Forsaken who was assisting her. “Make him look bloated.” He squinted at Shaw with his single eye.

“Tell me again why I have to be disguised as a walking corpse,” grumbled Shaw. “Can't I just wear armor? Or a...veil, or something? Or, better yet, how about if I just stay here and you give my excuses to Sylvanas?”

“I'm fairly certain that if I arrived in Orgrimmar alone, she'd send someone to fetch you. I don't think you want that, Shaw.”  
Shaw subsided into unhappy silence.

The next step of the process was going to make the human even more unhappy, Nathanos observed. He sipped from his goblet of chilled grape juice and wondered if the deception was going to prove unnecessary. If Baine returned sans entourage...

“Do you wish him dressed in festive colors, my lord, or somber?” inquired Portia. “How fine a cloth should I use? Decorative cut, military or domestic?”

“Something dark. Unattractive. It's a disguise, not a ceremonial gown,” Nathanos growled. “I expect it to look a bit shabby. And dirty. It should give the impression that he was only recently raised. But none of his flesh can be exposed.”

Only his eyes would be visible. However distinctive the spymaster’s green eyes were, it shouldn't be enough to identify him.

Portia gaped at him in dismay, then quickly recovered. “Of course, Lord Blightcaller. Full Shroud, then. Very popular with our Forsaken clients. Gray tones. Unfinished edges...we’ll pull threads and layer strategically shredded cloth over full coverage. Whatever you need.”

“Good. I want you back here for the fitting in two days.”

“Two days?” the assistant exclaimed. “But my Lord...”

“Of course we'll have it for you in two days, my Lord Blightcaller,” Portia proclaimed. “No problem. No expense too great, eh? Come on Dannel. Pack up and let's get a move on.” She rubbed her hands together. “We've got a big fat commission...er...job to do."

Nathanos watched them file out the door.

Shaw retrieved his clothing and prepared to shove his leg into the trousers.

“Wait. Leave the clothes off. Come with me.” He led Shaw down the hallway, up a flight of stairs and to the bathing room, where Lena had laid out a tray beside the tub of steaming water.

“Another bath?” Shaw sighed, although he didn't sound particularly unhappy about it. He began divesting himself of his socks and smalls.

Nathanos waited until Shaw had stripped and settled in the tub before pulling the tray closer. On it lay scissors, shaving cream and a straight razor.

“Shaw. I'm afraid the disguise isn't going to be enough,” he said. “Dunk your head. I'll need your hair wet for this.”

“For what?” Shaw asked suspiciously. He caught sight of the scissors in Nathanos’ hand. “Blightcaller. Tell me you're not about to use those on me.” He craned his head and caught sight of the straight razor. “No. No.” He shrank down in the tub.

“The Forsaken don't have hair, Shaw.”

“You have hair,” Shaw pointed out desperately.

“I am the exception.”

“But no one will see. I'll be covered,” Shaw moaned. “Blightcaller, have mercy, not the mustache...”

Nathanos seated himself, then fisted Shaw's hair and pulled the man's head back against sloped edge of the tub.

Shaw closed his eyes in resignation.

Nathanos dabbed the cream over Shaw's bushy eyebrows, then bent to scrape them off with precise, careful strokes. When he had finished, he dipped his hand in the water and rinsed the newly bald skin.

After a moment of consideration, he replaced the razor on the tray. “That will be sufficient,” he told Shaw. “As long as you're careful, I suppose you can keep the rest.”

Shaw's head shifted slightly against the tub, and his eyes opened. He stared up at Nathanos for a time, his gaze open and unguarded. “You're not a complete bastard all the time, are you Blightcaller?” His hand crept up to cup Nathanos’ cheek. “Join me?”

Nathanos bent forward to press his lips to Shaw's. As always, Shaw jerked slightly at first contact. It normally took him a moment to steel himself to the touch of Nathanos’ cold flesh on his. It wasn’t just the temperature. Undead flesh had a different texture to it. “I don’t have time,” he told Shaw regretfully. Normally, before he touched Shaw he liked to spent half an hour in a hot tub, warming his body temperature and covering the faint scent of death that lingered on his skin with mint and lavender, which Shaw seemed to respond best to.

Shaw rubbed his fingers over the smooth skin above his eyes. “Maybe…” he pulled his gaze away from Nathanos’ “But I doubt this will be enough. I’ve got far too much hair to easily hide beneath a cloth hood.”

Did Shaw truly want his head shaved? Or was he simply trying to be accommodating? “Get it wet,” Nathanos ordered.

Shaw leaned forward to dunk his head beneath the surface, then came up with a jerk. Blinking, he leaned back against the tub.

“Straighten up,” Nathanos instructed. He took a section of Shaw’s hair and snipped it off, close to the root.

Shaw’s eyes closed as Nathanos began to methodically cut away the long, damp strands. His expression smoothed out, and he took a long, deep breath and let it out with a curiously contented sound.

“If I’d known you enjoyed having your hair cut this much, I’d have done so earlier,” Nathanos remarked.

Shaw gave a small snort. “I just need to do something, Blightcaller. Something besides…this. Being your pet. Not that there aren’t much worse things you could be doing to me.” His head tilted slightly. “I’m not thrilled about the idea of listening in on SI:7. And if I hear anything that would damage them if it gets out, I won’t…” He fell silent.

Nathanos snipped away the last of Shaw’s ginger locks, scooped a fingerful of shaving cream and began to spread it over the uneven stubble that had been left behind. He carefully positioned the straight razor and began to scrape away the truncated bristle of Shaw’s hair.

“You’re not talking to me, Blightcaller. It’s like waiting for the second boot to drop. A little nerve-racking.”

“I don’t think there’s anything that needs to be said.”

“Don’t you…shit!” Shaw winced as the razor caught on something. A tiny ribbon of blood trickled down Shaw’s face and neck, dissipating into the bathwater. “You aren’t going to threaten to cut my balls off if I don’t tell you?”

“Leave it, Shaw.” Nathanos was aware that he ought to call Shaw on his declaration. But it was a situation that he just didn’t wish to confront, at least not until it became an actual problem and not just a theoretical one.

“Whatever my lord and master commands,” Shaw remarked sullenly.

Nathanos reflected that he preferred Shaw shaking in terror to sulking. “I will try to stand between you and Sylvanas as best I can, Shaw, but if you bring something to my attention, I am honor bound to bring it to hers. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, I...yes.” Shaw slumped. “I apologize. I’m just…” He made a helpless noise. “I can't find a point to my life anymore, and for some fucking reason you won’t let me die. I am exhausted, Blightcaller. This…” he reached up to brush his fingers over the ruin of his hair, “there’s not much left of me. I suppose once it’s gone I can… find something else. It might not be me anymore, but it will be something.”

Echoes of Shaw’s words found a counterpoint in Nathanos’ own private pain. His fingers brushed over Shaw’s cheek. “This isn’t what I wanted for you, Shaw. It was never what I had planned.”

“What did you plan for me, Blightcaller? We never got much past first base that time you stashed me in your playroom.”

Many years ago, Shaw had managed to stealth past the castle guards, not a particularly difficult feat at the time. Had Nathanos known to expect a visit from the Alliance spymaster he would have crafted a far more effective warning system. Nathanos caught him rifling through correspondence from his private vault. Had there been just the two of them, there was no predicting how their conflict might have ended, but a dozen guards persuaded Shaw to give up his weapons and let himself be taken.

Nathanos had left Shaw in his playroom, intending to give the atmosphere of the place time to work on his captive, but by the time Nathanos returned for him, Shaw had vanished.

“Something less destructive.”

There was a long silence. “You don’t pull any punches, do you, Blightcaller?”

Nathanos scraped off the last straggling hairs and rinsed away the blood. “This should do well enough.” He waited, wondering if Shaw would request that he remove the rest.

“Blightcaller.” Shaw’s voice was slightly hoarse. “Don’t stop. Please. I just need…to have your hands on me right now. Shave off anything that you want gone.”

Nathanos returned the razor to the tray and pushed it aside. He stood up and began to remove his clothing. Shirt, boots, stockings, pants, smalls. “Move forward in the tub.”

Obediently, Shaw scooted forward.

It would take his body some time to warm. “Now, lean back against me.”

Shaw moved backward until his buttocks pressed against Nathanos’ spread thighs. “Cold…” he said breathlessly. “Feels…nice. Strangely nice.”

Nathanos reached out to pull the tray closer, then laid Shaw’s head back against one shoulder. He took a handful of the shaving cream and began to work it into Shaw’s upper lip, chin and throat.

Shaw swallowed. “Well…this is going to be different. I thought you were against having sharp objects near my throat.”

“I am not Sylvanas,” Nathanos told him. He scraped delicately at the man’s lip with the razor, watching the red hairs fall away a few at a time. “You’ll need a new name,” he remarked. “It should be chosen now. You’ll have to grow accustomed to responding to it.”

Shaw cleared his throat but wisely made no attempt to speak.

Once the mustache was cleared away, Nathanos transferred his attention to the man’s beard. It was a far cry from the saucy little goatee that Shaw used to maintain. The beard was coarse; a mix of red and silver and gold hairs. Nathanos scraped Shaw’s sideburns clear, stopping every so often to rinse the blade in the bathwater. By the time he had finished with sideburns and chin, there was a small flotilla of hairs bobbing on the surface of the water and Shaw was eying them with undisguised horror.

Nathanos pressed the man’s head against his chest and leaned back, exposing the spymaster’s throat. Shaw made a protesting noise. “Don’t talk,” Nathanos commanded. “Don’t swallow. Breathe shallowly.” He smiled as Shaw’s throat immediately convulsed in an involuntary swallow. The man was extremely suggestable right now, he noted with amusement. He set the edge of the razor against the skin of Shaw’s throat, and drew it downward in a long, sure stroke.

“It should be something easy to remember, easy to pronounce. The Forsaken will often keep the names they bore when they breathed, but sometimes they choose to leave everything behind, even their identities. We are striving for anonymity, so an ordinary human name would be best. Have you any preferences, Shaw? If so, you’d best keep them to yourself until I’m done here,” he warned as Shaw drew air into his lungs.

Nathanos took his time, maneuvering carefully around Shaw’s adam’s apple, keeping his blade clean. By the time he was done, it was clear that both he and Shaw would come out of the tub covered with small bits of reddish hair. It gave him a curiously intimate pleasure to contemplate. “Perhaps something common. William. Bill. Billy.”

Shaw made a distressed sound.

“Not to your liking? Hmm. Thomas, then. Although…” Nathanos scraped at a missed patch “…anything too common might be suspicious. Augustus Milborne. Henry Dongle. Rufus Krickbottle. I rather like the sound of that one…”

He removed the razor and Shaw gasped out “Timothy Crow!”

Nathanos’ lips twitched. “I suppose that will do.” He laved water over Shaw’s throat. “As will this.”

“This obviously isn’t doing anything for you, Blightcaller.” Shaw shifted slightly, pressing himself against Nathanos, trapping the slight bulge of Nathanos’ flaccid cock against Shaw’s buttock. “What gets you off, anyway?”

“Nothing that you’d be comfortable hearing about…Timothy.”

“Timothy is a very adventurous fellow,” Shaw remarked, shifting about again, his buttocks hot against Nathanos’ skin. He fingered his slick chin, smoothing down a goatee that no longer existed save in their memories. “Try me.”

Nathanos suddenly became aware of the sound of his own heartbeat. It grew in volume, swelling in the damp heat like the throb of jungle drums. The scent of lavender and mint filling his nostrils was pushed aside by the memory of incense and blood. He thrust Shaw roughly into an upright position. “Hands behind your back,” he ordered.

Shaw’s throat worked. He hesitated for a moment, then complied.

Nathanos’ body strained as he leaned over the edge of the tub, scooping up his linen shirt. He used it to lash Shaw’s wrists tightly together. “Lena!” he raised his voice.

The door opened, and the Forsaken poked her head in.

“Send Yurig in. Immediately. Tell him to bring his toys.”

Shaw’s eyes widened. “When I said adventurous, I may have been…”

Nathanos could feel reactions beginning to stir inside him. _I am rousing too quickly_. He placed his mouth against the spymaster’s ear. “Silence. Don’t make me gag you, Shaw.” His head swam with unfamiliar sensations. A growing hunger pinched his insides.

Shaw twitched, and his expression froze when he saw the look on Nathanos’ face.

Nathanos felt his cock began to swell. Sensations played across it; it was as if his senses were suddenly coming alive. Taste, touch, smell…all would be enhanced, he knew. His hands slid down Shaw's body, greedy for the feel of him, suddenly impatient, enflamed… The door opened. “Yurig,” he gasped.

The tauren was immediately at Shaw’s elbow. “I have him,” Yurig soothed.

Nathanos pulled Shaw against him, so that the man’s back pressed against his chest and Shaw's legs rested lightly across Nathanos’ thighs, bumping and moving with the water currents. Nathanos’ erection pressed up between Shaw’s buttocks.

Shaw squirmed in nervous apprehension. “In retrospect, that was probably a question that should have been left unasked.”

Desire pulsed through Nathanos at the sight of Shaw’s expression, a desperate need to bury himself inside Shaw, to feel that heat surrounding him, the kiss of living warmth against his most intimate flesh.

“My lord,” Yurig rumbled. “May I help prepare him for you?” He placed his huge fingers against Shaw’s back and, one handed, began to undo the buckles of his harness.

Shaw whimpered; a sound laced with real terror.

The sound drove deep into Nathanos’ core like an iron lance, painful in its intensity. He hooked his hands beneath Shaw’s buttocks and lifted, and Yurig helped him turn Shaw around, reversing him in the tub. He could smell the slight edge of fear coming off Shaw in ever stronger amounts. Shaw was half-hard; Nathanos took him, tasted him, licking and teasing and sucking lightly as the mood struck him. Beneath his ministrations, Shaw gasped and bucked and grew fully erect.

“My lord. You must give him time to become ready for you. Give me your hand.”

Nathanos obeyed blindly, sucking Shaw’s cock, swallowing him down. He felt his arm pulled out of the water, oil being spread over his hand. The taste of Shaw filled his mouth, a piquant flavor that flooded his senses. He swallowed, feeling Shaw’s cock pressed between his palate and tongue. Small flashes of light danced over his vision. It wasn’t enough. He wanted more.

“Put your thumb inside him, my lord.” Nathanos felt his hand guided down, positioned. The tauren pressed in, forcing Nathanos’ thumb past the tight ring of muscle. “Open him, so that he’ll be ready for you. There, that’s good.” Shaw whimpered and squirmed as Nathanos twisted his thumb about, pressing in more deeply.

The flavor of salt laved his tongue. He swallowed greedily. _More_. The taste of it gently soothed the aching emptiness inside him. _Alone. To be dead is to be alone._

“Another finger, then…” Shaw grunted as he was stretched farther.

Nathanos milked Shaw’s cock with his lips.

“Slow, my lord,” advised Yurig. “You won’t want him to come too soon.”

Nathanos twisted his fingers against Shaw’s prostate, feeling the man’s legs scissor against him.

“Three fingers, my lord. He’s almost ready for you.”

Nathanos let Shaw slip from his mouth, pressing three fingers in, twisting. Shaw’s eyes rolled back in his head, as his prostate was raked repeatedly.

“Take him now, my lord. He is close.”

With a growl, Nathanos levered up onto his knees. He removed his fingers and replaced them with the tip of his cock and pressed in, slowly, waves of heat crashing over him like storm breakers, filling him as he immersed himself in Shaw. Nathanos’ back arched and a low, animal moan broke from his lips. It was pain and pleasure intertwined, a burn that he craved to the point of madness. Shaw’s energies flowed into him. Life. Heat. Fear. Lust. Pain. Light. Each had its own distinct flavor. He drank them in. His skin felt stretched tight over flesh suddenly flushed and filled. Nathanos shuddered to his completion and pulled out before he could take too much, feeling the loss of that intimacy tear something inside him.

He pushed away from Shaw, unable to bear the look in the man’s eyes. Feeling exposed, as if his skin had been shredded raw.

Shaw was openly shaking, his breathing coming in shuddering gasps. “What the fuck was that?! What the fuck just happened, Blightcaller?”

“It is my lord’s answer to the curse,” Yurig murmured and Nathanos lashed out in pain-driven rage at the tauren’s words _how dare you betray my secrets?_ catching the tauren a glancing blow and sinking his fist into the tub’s rim with a ringing, meaty sound. He felt the bones of his fist break.

“Get out of the tub, Shaw.” Yurig’s voice was calm and without inflection. “Slowly.”

“No.” Nathanos felt the surge of rage die away as suddenly as it had appeared, as the pain of what he had taken subsided. It was the Light that burned more than anything else, but it was the thing he craved most. The hunger had been reduced but it still called out inside him… _more_. “I’m not finished with him, Yurig.”

“My lord…” Yurig’s ears flattened against his head. “If you…” _if you harm him_ , his eyes said. “You will cause yourself pain.”

“Yurig. Return him to me.”

Shaw had withdrawn as far as he could to the foot of the tub. His arms were still bound. His head fell back in desperate resignation as Yurig lifted him and presented him to Nathanos.

“I should have let you come first,” Nathanos murmured. Shaw's cock bobbed limply in the water. If Shaw had orgasmed, the ritual would have been fully completed.

“I'm fine,” Shaw said faintly. Water lapped at the sides of his ears. “What if we just say that a good time was had by all, and go our separate ways?”

Nathanos re-seated himself between the man's thighs, wrapping them around his waist. He ran his hands over Shaw's hips, delving into the cleft of his buttocks, which were still slick with oil.

“Blightcaller,” Shaw said desperately. “I don't know what you just did but it scared the shit out of me. There's no way I'm going to be able to get it up for you. If you plan on having another go at me, well, I won't need as much prep this time. Assuming that's a consideration for you. But...I'm sorry, that's all there is.”

“Shaw.” He raised the man into a sitting position, still resting on Nathanos’ thighs, pressing chest to chest. “I regret frightening you. You were never in any danger.” It was not strictly the truth; if it hadn't been for Yurig’s presence, Shaw might have been damaged. He brushed his lips over Shaw's nipples, grazing the nubs of them with his teeth. “Untie him,” he instructed Yurig.

Shaw grimaced as his arms were released; Yurig massaged them gently until he sighed and relaxed, his head drooping down to rest against Nathanos.

“More oil,” Nathanos instructed, and Yurig poured a small portion into his hand, which returned to its leisurely exploration of Shaw's hidden parts.

“Not that I don't appreciate the effort that you're making,” Shaw said, “and don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, but...” He stopped. “Fuck. I'm about to make a liar out of myself.”

It took longer to rouse Shaw to full hardness the second time, but a determined effort by Nathanos’ mouth and fingers did the trick. Nathanos swallowed him down as Shaw came with a loud cry.

Warmth floated into him. The comfort of being filled with life. Satisfied. He wrapped his arms around Shaw's lower back and rested his head against the man's chest for a long moment, feeling himself drifting with contentment. Hearing the rapid-fire beat of Shaw's heart gradually slow.

Vaguely, he was aware of Shaw being removed from his arms. There was a murmur of voices. He let himself slip beneath the surface of the water, watching the bubbles trail up as the air left his lungs.

Content, he drifted, feeling the water cool gradually around him. Finally, he felt hands grasp beneath his arms and lift. Yurig set him gently on a towel and proceeded to rub him dry. His hair was combed, his skin gently but thoroughly oiled. Yurig helped him to dress.

“Where did you put Shaw?” Nathanos asked when he had returned to himself enough that speech was possible.

“Fed him,” the tauren rumbled as he pulled closed the ties of Nathan's shirt. “Put him in your bed.”

Nathanos rose to his feet, straightening his clothing and reorienting himself. “I'll need you to come with me when I take him to Orgrimmar. Baine may prove difficult if he finds out what's going on.”

Yurig nodded. “I'll speak to him if it comes to that. He can be made to see reason.”

“Make sure he understands that giving Shaw up is not an option.” Nathanos heard the snarl in his voice and struggled to put away the emotional maelstrom still seething inside him.

“I'll have your meditation room prepared,” Yurig informed him placidly, not at all dismayed by Nathanos’ ire. “Unless you wish to make use of him again tonight?”

“No. Let him sleep.”

“As you wish. I am also available, should you have need.” Yurig gave Nathanos a good-natured leer.

Nathanos chuckled and pulled Yurig's head down by the horns. His fingers traced tenderly along the tauren’s sensitive ears.

Yurig gave a blissful shudder.

“Not tonight,” Nathanos said regretfully. “I am quite thoroughly spent.”

“Then I will take my leave of you, my lord,” Yurig murmured. “The room will be prepared immediately.”

Nathanos found that he needed to meditate in perfect peace, perfect quiet, in order to process and absorb all that he had taken after a vigorous feeding. His time beneath the bathwater had taken the most immediate edge off his need, but he would most likely be meditating all night. Re-experiencing the memories. Tasting the passions. Feeling the sharpness of his senses fading.

There was sorrow to be found in the process as well as comfort, but it was required in order for him to function. Nathanos needed to clear himself of the emotions that came with the energy he had taken into himself. Purifying it. Absorbing it.

The ritual which he had used on Shaw was one which he'd learned from a Gurubashi shaman. Originally meant to be used in the animating of the dead, Nathanos had adapted it to his own unique physiology.

He found it far more pleasant than the traditional way Forsaken were taught to restore their death energies. It was why so many of them ended up looking like decaying corpses, creating an odd kind of inversion where the best-looking corpses were usually the worst people.

He'd attempted to teach his method to Lena, with no success. Sylvanas had shown an interest, but it was difficult to say whether she still practiced the arts he had taught her. She had many other means at her disposal.

The first time he had performed it, the ritual had required a great deal more ceremony. Black candles scented with corpseweed, a floating plant that grew on dead bodies along the Stranglethorn coast. Bathing with soap made from human fat. A male fetish crafted from blood clay, in the shape of the crocolisk deity said to drag souls to the afterlife in some myths, decorated with raptor teeth, tiger claws and naga scales. But over time it had become almost second nature to him. The superficial trappings required to lead his mind and body into the dark channels of the voodooine magic were gradually discarded and now all that was required were the essential three elements.

Lust. Pain. Terror.

Fortunately, they were not required in equal measures. Yurig roused easily to pain and lust. Terror... not so much. They found ways to make do. Helplessness could suffice, and the ritual had become almost forgiving over time. Less a ritual, and now almost an instinctive reaction for Nathanos, given the proper conditions.

It was far easier with a fresh and inexperienced subject. Shaw had been everything that he had hoped for when he first met the man so many years ago. Everything that he had anticipated. Well worth waiting for.

It couldn't last. Shaw would eventually grow jaded and cease to respond. Nathanos had accepted that. He didn't even regret it. All things must eventually end.

But Nathanos had learned to enjoy his pleasures of the moment and not try to anticipate how long they would last, or how they would end. He rose and went to find Yurig.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Alliance is sending a delegation to Orgrimmar. Shaw is expected to find out why.

The top of the ramp that led to the entrance of Orgrimmar's embassy was a good vantage point from which to watch the ebb and flow of the city. Far below, in the Valley of Strength, beings of all shapes and sizes came and went. Two trolls marched arm and arm into the Broken Tusk Inn. A huge tauren bound in leather harnesses and wearing Bloodhoof colors strode into the bank, with a gaggle of goblins scurrying to follow in his wake.

Three gryphons circled overhead. It was too far away to see details, but Nathanos suspected they were Alliance observers. If they'd been Horde they'd have been riding windriders. As if in response to his thoughts, six windriders took to the sky, launching from the upper level of Orgrimmar's cliffs in formation, trolls and orcs bristling with spikes and leather. The nine flyers swooped and wove about each other in a cautious dance of potential threat.

Below and to the left was Grommash Hold, a huge, circular building of stone and metal-bound wood. Metal spikes sprouted from its corners and studded the roof, like jagged teeth.

They had walked up and down the Drag several times. Although he was trying to pretend otherwise, Nathanos suspected that Shaw was already quite familiar with the area. He barely glanced at the entrance to the Cleft, though it should have looked quite intriguing to someone who didn't know what he was seeing.

At an open cafe next door to Gotri's Traveling Gear, they had whitecrest gumbo, baked turtle, South Island iced tea and a dozen chocolate cookies, which Shaw and Yurig had split after Nathanos declared himself not fond of chocolate. It was almost the truth. Nathanos purchased Shaw half a dozen shirts and three pairs of trousers at Magar's, as well as smalls and several other accessories. They stopped in at Yelmak's so Nathanos could pick up a tin of Pandaren tea leaves and a recipe which Chiyong had requested from Kor'geld. Yurig obligingly shouldered their purchases.

The only shadow cast over the day was the way Shaw flinched whenever an orc got too close. Yurig made a point of interposing his body when he could, but there were more orcs in Orgrimmar than any other species, and they had no sense of personal space. It helped that most of them recognized Nathanos and gave him a cautious berth, so Shaw spent a great deal of time hovering in Nathanos' wake. He and Yurig quickly discovered that walking side by side with Shaw bracketed between them was a recipe for disaster. Inevitably, an orc heading for the three of them would see Shaw as an easier target for shoving his way through. So they traveled in a line with Nathanos leading the way, followed by Shaw and Yurig taking rear-guard.

Still, by the time they found themselves back on the embassy ramp, Shaw was looking drawn and exhausted. He leaned against the stone parapet between Yurig and Nathanos, his eyes fastened on Orgrimmar’s gate. “Do you know when they’re due to arrive?” he asked.

“This afternoon," Nathanos replied. Not for the first time, he regretted leaving Lena behind. She could have rented the use of a windrider for the day, and Nathanos would have had advanced warning of the Alliance ship’s arrival.

“We could go outside the gates and wait,” Yurig suggested, his face bright with excitement and curiosity.

“I do not think that would be advisable. So…Sh…” just in time, Nathanos remembered not to speak Shaw’s name aloud “…Crow…what do you anticipate will be in the Alliance’s proposal?”

“I have no idea,” Shaw said quietly. “Too many things will have changed since I disappeared. What have we been fighting over lately?”

“Nothing major. There's still skirmishing going on along Darkshore. And Silithus is claimed by both sides.”

“Perhaps some proposal to carve Silithus up, then. They might be willing to let you have a larger piece if you withdraw from Darkshore.”

“I doubt Sylvanas would be open to that.” Nathanos leaned his elbows on the stone parapet next to Shaw.

“There's something happening down there,” Yurig remarked.

Nathanos squinted down into the valley. People were beginning to mill about in confusion as three legions of armed orcish soldiers clad in scarlet and black entered through the gate and began ordering people from the common area. “At least we can be certain that it isn't just Baine who's arrived. They'd hardly need to clear the area for him.”

“Hmmm. Let's get closer,” Yurig suggested. “I can't see anything from here.” The tauren, as a species, had mediocre eyesight and Yurig’s had been damaged further by a childhood illness.

Nathanos considered the possible consequences. Shaw was leaning forward eagerly, obviously longing for a sight of someone from his home. What if the Alliance’s party included Anduin himself? If Shaw were to draw the attention of the king...if he decided to tear off his disguise and reveal himself hoping that his king could protect him...

If the worst happened, he'd order Shaw dragged off and stashed away at the inn under heavy guard. It would cause an uproar, of course, but Shaw was technically a prisoner of war, and although the Alliance would most certainly demand his return, there wouldn't be much they could do about the situation, other than through diplomatic channels. Not unless they wanted to start a war over one man. If Varian had still been king, he might very well have been willing to start the war, just for the hell of it. Not Anduin, though. His peace at all costs policies often handicapped his own side in negotiations. But he could be counted on to take care of his men.

Sylvanas would have some choice words to say regarding his handling of the situation if Shaw embarrassed him. But the blame would partly be hers; she was the one who had insisted that Shaw be used.

“Very well,” said Nathanos. “By all means, let's get closer. We certainly don't want to miss any moment of this marvelous event.” He hoped that Sylvanas wouldn’t require him to actually participate in the farce. He was just there as Shaw’s handler.

Yurig snorted and led the way eagerly down the ramp. At the bottom, he and Nathanos switched positions, with Nathanos taking point. The guards knew better than to include him in their sweeps, and every time Yurig or Shaw was accosted Nathanos simply said, loudly and coldly, “He's with me.”

That was sufficient to get them front-row locations. They had lined up in front of Broken Tusk just in time to have a clear view of the blue and gold clad officers who marched through the gate, preceded by Baine and surrounding…

Nathanos frowned, catching sight of the grizzled hair and grim expression of the king of Gilneas.

“This isn't good,” muttered Yurig.

“No.” Nathanos scowled. “We can't let him get within sniffing range of Timothy, here.” After the soldiers came a large group of household retainers, carrying boxes and openly sporting the Greymane colors.

“It's worse than that,” Yurig said. “You smell of Shaw. The wolf will pick that up; you know what their noses are like.”

“We’ll need to send him back to the keep.” Nathanos looked at Shaw, whose eyes were fixed on the Alliance contingent, his jaw tight and shoulders hunched. The look in his eyes was pure longing.

“Take Shaw back to the inn…” Nathanos broke off as Shaw’s hand closed around his wrist, then released.

“I know most of the men in his entourage,” Shaw told him. “And most of the retainers are SI:7. They're reminding each other to stay alert.” He gave a small snort. “Nervous chatter, mostly. Two of them have orders to stay with Greymane at all times. That's fairly standard.”

Nathanos knew what he was doing. Shaw didn't want to be sent back to the keep. He was trying to make himself useful.

“The others have orders to look for…” Shaw stopped, his face suddenly frozen. He half turned, clutching at Yurig’s harness with both hands, as if seeking comfort there. “They're looking for me,” he said. “That's why they're here.”

* * *

“You have your orders, Nathanos. Surely it can't be that difficult an assignment,” Sylvanas said coldly, as she and Nathanos stood together in Grommash Hold, watching Baine and Greymane argue over the details of how the Alliance contingent was to be housed during their negotiations.

“There will be no disguising his scent. And SI:7 already suspects that we have him. They will be focusing all their expertise on turning up word of his whereabouts.” Nathanos thought about the two tailors who had crafted Shaw's disguise. Goblins had loyalty to nothing but the coin that bought them, and Alliance gold was as good as any to a goblin.

Sylvanas laughed. “They will, won't they? Good. It will keep their intentions from far more important things. Let them look. Where is Shaw?”

“I sent him to the Golden Axe with Yurig.” The Axe was a new inn which had recently opened in the Valley of Honor. It had the virtue of being as far from Grommash Hold as Nathanos could find.

Sylvanas frowned. “I would prefer you closer at hand, but I suppose it would be tempting fate to house him in the same inn with the Alliance's little tin soldiers. How sad that the little lion didn't care enough to come himself; I was hoping for a diversion.”

“I imagine the worgen will be diverting enough,” Nathanos pointed out. “He's already got Baine shouting.” The High Chieftain of the tauren was famously soft-spoken. “Greymane wants the entire inn to himself. He says it will reduce the risk of incidents.”

“More likely he wants an unobserved nest from which to launch his spies.”

“Of course.” Nathanos considered carefully what information to feed them. The most obvious ploy would be to send them to the four corners of the region, chasing Shaw sightings. He made a mental note to warn Lena that the keep might experience a visitation from SI:7.

“I think you're right,” Sylvanas mused, watching the escalating argument. “The wolf is every bit as entertaining as the lion.” She sniffed. “I doubt anything will be accomplished this week, but it will be diverting.”

“We've already managed to lose two of them,” Nathanos remarked.

“What?”

“I counted eleven retainers as they came through the gate. We're down to nine.”

“Hmm…” Sylvanas smiled. “How interesting. Time to go poke the bear…” She drifted toward Baine and Greymane, announcing herself with “Wolf! How careless of you, managing to misplace two of your men already…”

Nathanos took the opportunity to withdraw. He had to find a way to satisfy Sylvanas’ whims, but at the same time to prevent the wolf from discovering that the prize he sought was right under his nose.

As he made his way toward the Valley of Honor, a plan was already beginning to form in his head. He chuckled. Shaw was most definitely not going to like it. Neither was Yurig, for that matter, but it was all he could come up with on short notice.

And, after all, it was only for a week.

* * *

“This is insane,” Shaw moaned, then he gagged as Lena began to slather rotted flesh over him. She had traveled immediately from Stonecliff to bring Nathanos the supplies he had requested.

“Stop wiggling,” she growled, “or this handful is going somewhere you really don’t want it.”

“I don’t want it anywhere…”

“It will disguise your scent.” Nathanos sat back in his chair and watched as Lena coated Shaw’s skin and the inside of his clothing with a paste made from the various discarded body parts which she had collected from Forsaken residing on Nathanos’ estate. He hoped they had all been given up voluntarily.

Yurig had taken up a position as far from Shaw and Lena as he could manage. He stood next to an open window and breathed shallowly, looking miserable.

“This is going to just dry up and flake off. It’s unfortunate that he’s so hairless.” Lena frowned. “He should bathe in it. Soak him in an infusion for a few hours…”

“Please,” Shaw said faintly. “Just kill me and have done.”

“Soak him,” said Nathanos. “Shaw. You’ll survive.”

“Unfortunately. Yes. Look, Blightcaller, you and I are two reasonably intelligent men. Surely, we can come up with a better solution…” Shaw watched with the eyes of a condemned man as a pair of trolls carried in a white enameled tub, and a procession of goblins and trolls carried in buckets of warm water. “And won’t people ask questions? About tubs full of rotting flesh?”

“They’ll assume we’re washing it off, not on,” Lena grunted. “Get in.”

“Blightcaller…have mercy…it will get everywhere, in every crack and crevice…” Shaw hovered at the edge of the tub, misery written into every line of his body. The almost imperceptible tremors running through his body signaled what Nathanos was beginning to recognize as Shaw at the end of his endurance. Between the city full of orcs and being forced to watch as Greymane and the rest of his former friends and associates paraded by, unable to make himself known to them, knowing that he was going to be forced to commit acts of treason that would forever sever him from their trust, if discovered…

In Nathanos’ opinion, Shaw was already being pushed farther than he should be… “Lena…soak his smalls and finish rubbing him down. That will be enough.”

Shaw gagged again as Lena returned to her task but managed to tolerate the procedure.

“This is why many inns refuse service to the Forsaken,” she told him as she massaged the dark, lumpy mixture over his legs. “They don’t like their fine rooms spoiled by our rot. It’s a good thing we don’t need to sleep. They’ll probably burn the sheets after we leave.” She glanced at the tub. “Wasted effort,” she sniffed.

“Not entirely. I need to wash Shaw’s scent off my skin.” A memory forced itself into Nathanos’ mind, Shaw, body splayed out like a feast on the surface of the water, writhing in the throes of passion.

Heat lapped inside him, the cells of his body responding to the prompting of his thoughts. _I want to take him home_. He longed to have done with this farce that Sylvanas had forced on him. But it was simply not an option, and he knew it. “Shaw…is there any smell that Greymane particularly hates? Besides the obvious?”

“Lichbloom. And roses. He loathes the smell of roses.”

“I’ll need to bathe in that, I suppose, then.”

“I know where I can get it, my lord,” Yurig gasped. “Glad to be of service. Be right back.” The tauren made his escape quickly.

Nathanos had stripped off his clothing but not yet stepped into the tub when there was a knock on the door. He and Lena exchanged a glance.

She shrugged and wiped her hands off on Shaw’s tattered disguise while Nathanos took up his bow and a single arrow, then Lena went to answer the door.

“Is this the room of Lord Blightcaller?” It was an orc’s voice, heavy with the accents of Durotar.

“Yes.”

“His presence is required immediately for a meeting with the King of Gilneas.”

Lena glanced at Nathanos for direction. Holding up one finger with a smirk, he stepped into the tub and submerged up to his neck.

“I’m afraid that will not be possible. Lord Blightcaller is engaged in…other business right now. We expect him to be free in an hour. Where should he look for Greymane?” Lena asked, with just the right hint of condescension.

There was a moment of silence. “Grommash Hold.” The orc did not sound pleased.

“I’ll inform Lord Blightcaller,” Lena said, and shut the door.

Twenty minutes later, Yurig returned with a bag of dried Lichbloom petals and two bags of crushed rose paste. He handed them to Nathanos and returned to his station at the window.

The rose paste was faintly pleasing. The Lichbloom, not so much, but if it would keep Greymane at a distance…Nathanos dumped the contents of one of the rose bags into the tub and rubbed the paste between his fingers until it had completely dissolved.

Lena finished with Shaw as Nathanos soaked, and the spymaster was left staring down at his soiled smalls with dread. “Can I at least wait until they dry before putting them on?” He threw a look of utter longing in the direction of Nathanos’ rose scented bathwater.

“Not an option,” said Yurig, craning his head to see out the window. “Your disguise is about to experience trial by fire. Genn Greymane is here.”

“Damn.” Shaw grimaced as he pulled his smalls up and hastily draped himself with his ragged disguise. He withdrew to the window and stood beside Yurig, dwarfed by the huge tauren.

There was a loud banging on the door.

Lena waited for Nathanos’ permission before opening the door. She stepped back quickly as it banged open.

“Blightcaller!” Greymane snarled as he strode into the room. His white hair and beard fairly bristled with aggression. He wore a heavy overcoat of brown and silver, and his hands were sheathed in dark leather.

“Greymane.” Nathanos leaned back in the tub, giving the impression that he was perfectly at ease with the situation. If the wolf thought to put him at a disadvantage by catching him naked or at leisure, he was due for a disappointment. “Worgen are known for their impatience and lack of couth, but this falls outside the bounds of the acceptable. What is so urgent that it couldn’t wait?”

“Feh!” Greymane exclaimed. “You smell like the illegitimate product of a charnel house and a flower shop.” He stepped back toward the door. “No wonder you wanted to take a bath. Been sweating about something?”

“Not particularly. Should I be?” Nathanos inquired pleasantly.

“Always, when I’m around.” Greymane’s nose twitched. His gaze homed in on the room’s other occupants. Yurig was leaning, at ease, against the window, watching the worgen. Despite his gentle nature, Yurig was no stranger to fighting and his size and strength were easily Greymane’s equal if close combat were to erupt. Shaw had tucked himself behind Yurig, not obviously hiding, merely…sheltered.

Greymane returned his attention to Nathanos. “I’ve been tasked with presenting a proposal to you and your murderous bitch of a warchief.” His eyes were savage with hate. Sylvanas had killed his only son, and Greymane would never forgive nor forget. Yet another sin he laid at the Horde’s door. “I know it’s a waste of time. There is no peace with the Horde.”

“Ever the diplomat.” Nathanos gave him a sneer. “I take it your king is just going through the motions, otherwise he would have sent someone competent.”

Then a deep growl broke from the worgen’s lips as fur erupted from his skin and his jaws lengthened and sprouted fangs. His nostrils flared as he drew in a deep lungful of air, letting it out with a rasping cough. “Monster! Do not think your crimes will go unpunished.” His golden eyes iced over with rage. “I swear I will see you destroyed for this, Blightcaller!” He whirled with a savage curse, threw the door open and strode out.

Cautiously, Lena pushed the door shut. “What was he going on about?” She looked at Nathanos.

“I have no idea.” Nathanos sighed and stood up. “I’d better go find out.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Alliance has come to Orgrimmar for a peace talk. But is peace really what Greymane had in mind?

Nathanos found Sylvanas in the Cleft of Shadows, deep in conversation with an orcish warlock. She gave him a curious glance as he approached.

“What put Greymane’s smalls in a knot?” he asked.

“Greymane’s smalls? Or balls?” She gave a laugh. “I have no idea. Are they? I should very much like to see that,” she purred.

“He interrupted my bath,” Nathanos complained. “Seemed like he wanted to tear my head off. More so than he normally does.”

“We’ll find out tonight, I suppose. He’ll be presenting his proposal. Hopefully, he can keep his baser instincts under control until then. Although…it would be utterly delightful if he went into a berserk rage and Baine had to sit on him.”

“Something to look forward to…”

* * *

When Nathanos, Shaw and Yurig arrived at Grommash Hold that evening, Baine met them at the entrance.

“The Alliance ship left the harbor two hours ago,” he told them. “Greymane was on it. He packed up his people and marched out of the gate, without a word to anyone.” His frown was puzzled. “There was no warning. No declaration. They simply sailed away. Several of the dock guards were tossed into the harbor when they tried to object, but nobody was injured.” Then the tauren took a step back. “Earthmother! What is that smell?”

“Why would they leave? Not that I object to the wolf’s departure, regardless of the reason,” Nathanos snorted, “but it seems odd.”

“We have not yet been able to determine any reason. Sylvanas and Genn were at one another’s throats, but that is nothing new. No one has been reported missing, at least on our side. I did not have the opportunity to count as they boarded, so I do not know how many they might have left behind. It could have been a mission to plant spies, I suppose,” Baine continued thoughtfully. “But then…why make us suspicious by behaving unpredictably?”

In his head, Nathanos replayed the events of his last meeting with Greymane. Had the worgen seen through their deception? He hadn’t given any indication of it, and if he had, Nathanos would have expected him to follow immediately with a demand for Shaw’s release. “Probably just as well.”

Baine gave him an impatient look. “Peace for our people is…”

“I know, I know…” Sometimes Baine’s constant vomiting of virtue was more than Nathanos could stomach. “What do you plan to do about it?”

“I will take the first ship to Stormwind. I need to find out what is going on.”

“Be careful you don’t end up in their Stockade, cousin,” Yurig huffed. “You spend too much time in human lands. We need our High Chieftain here, not in some human’s jail cell. Not that jail cells can’t be a lot of fun, if properly handled.”

“Yurig.” Baine stepped close to his cousin and pulled their heads together into an affectionate headbutt. “Still licking Blightcaller’s undead balls, I see.”

“You should try it,” Yurig chuckled. “You’ll never go back to sniffing orc butt again…”

Baine cuffed him, and Yurig responded with a resounding slap of his tail across Baine’s buttocks.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Nathanos said. “I have a meeting to attend.”

“No meeting,” Baine grunted as he and Yurig locked arms.

Shaw hastily shied out of the way of the two jostling tauren.

“I’m sure Sylvanas will want to discus the ramifications of the Alliance’s retreat.”

“If she does, it will be somewhere else and likely not tonight. She left. Said something about orcs waiting for her in a dungeon cell.” Baine punched Yurig’s shoulder. “It has been too long since we were loud and drunk in Orgrimmar together, cousin. I will buy. You can bring your,” his nostrils flared “little friend, if you like. He will clear out the bar for us.”

“No thank you,” Shaw muttered. “I’d rather be trampled by Razzashi raptors.”

Baine stiffened. His head turned slowly, orienting on Shaw, scenting the air, ears quivering and pointed at the human.

 _Fuck_.

“Baine…hrum…that’s a great idea.” Yurig desperately grabbed his cousin’s arm. “I know just the place. Come on…”

Baine shook Yurig off.

Nathanos stepped between Baine and Shaw but the tauren simply shoved him aside. He flipped Shaw’s hood back. “Burning sands. Mathias Shaw.”

“Dammit.” Shaw’s voice was anguished. He ducked away from Baine, trying to replace his face covering, but the tauren grabbed his arm. 

“Shaw. Explain yourself!” Baine’s voice cracked like rawhide.

Fury washed over Nathanos. Swiftly, he drew his bow and fitted an arrow to the string. He drew it back, targeting Baine’s chest.

“Earth and sky! No!” Yurig’s hand swept down, knocking Nathanos’ arrow aside. He lowered his head and charged, knocking Baine off his feet and hurtling him backward to sprawl on the red dust of the valley floor. He grabbed Shaw and shoved him at Nathanos and whirled, standing, braced between the two of them and Baine.

Baine picked himself up off the ground. He stared at Nathanos, who still had an arrow nocked but had not yet retargeted him.

“Get out of the way, Yurig,” Nathanos commanded.

“No, Lord Blightcaller. He’s my cousin. Please.”

“You think I am afraid of you, Blightcaller?” Baine’s nostrils flared as his head lowered.

“If you aren’t,” Nathanos told him evenly, “you should be. You will be.”

“No! No! NO!” Yurig stomped, a powerful blow that rolled through the earth and smashed into Nathanos, knocking him off his feet. Shaw managed to keep his footing, but Baine went down again. “This will NOT happen.”

Nathanos rolled to his feet, snatched up his bow and drew another arrow, aiming it at Yurig. “You forget yourself, tauren!” he snarled.

Yurig turned his head. His ears flopped down and his eyes were filled with regret. “Please, my lord,” he said sadly. “Please don’t fight.”

Nathanos bared his teeth, struggling with his rage, his fingers trembling on the string.

Baine slowly got to his feet. “Shaw,” he said in a low voice. “Are they holding you against your will?”

Shaw stood, hunched, his eyes closed. Barely breathing.

“I went to the warchief and demanded to know where you were,” Baine told him. “She said she didn't have you. She swore an oath. I thought she was lying.”

Shaw’s fists clenched.

“Come with me. I'll see that you get back to Stormwind. I'll take you there personally.”

Shaw took a step away from Nathanos and pulled the Shroud’s hood over his face. The lines of his body were rigid. Soon he would start twitching, and Baine would see that the spymaster was under duress. Nathanos wasn't certain if that was advantageous or not.

Probably not. He needed to get Shaw back under control. “Shaw,” said Nathanos. “Withdraw.”

The spymaster hesitated for a long moment, then silently complied, taking up a position between Nathanos and Yurig. A reluctant compliance at best, but Nathanos could foresee only disaster in pushing Shaw further.

“I see.” Baine’s tone was clipped. His eyes lifted coldly to Nathanos’. “Congratulations, Blightcaller. A task well executed. I would have said you couldn’t pull it off. I was wrong.” He turned and walked off in the direction of the front gate.

Nathanos let the string relax. He replaced the arrow in its quiver and slung the bow back over his shoulder. Part of him wanted to apologize to Yurig. _I wouldn’t have let go_. “This was a mistake. From start to finish, and everything in between. We’re going home.” If Sylvanas had objections, she could come looking for him. And she probably would. “Follow me.”

Shaw took his place behind Nathanos, moving slowly and woodenly.

Nathanos could not think of anything that would ease the blow of Baine’s rejection. He wondered if Shaw had considered the tauren a friend.

Yurig fell into place behind Shaw. Silently, they made their way up the path that took them through the Drag, and eventually reached the inn.

Sylvanas should be told.

 _Not a good idea_. There was no predicting what she would do. Nathanos didn’t like unpredictability. It offended him. It wreaked havoc with his plans, and his intentionally ordered life. Sylvanus was more than likely to tell Baine that Shaw had been subverted to the Horde, and that if he let word of that fact leak to the Alliance he would be considered a traitor. Whether she actually cared what he did with the news was anyone’s guess but she liked to keep her options open.

Would Baine believe her? It would depend on how well he knew Shaw. Yurig would be able to predict Baine’s thoughts better than he. But Shaw would believe that Baine believed him a willing traitor, and it might break the man. Utterly.

Sylvanas was just as likely to do nothing. She liked to watch people careen off each other on their own. But that would still result in Baine carrying news of his suspicions concerning the spymaster to Stormwind.

They packed up their belongings. Shaw made no attempt to remove his reeking disguise, merely stood, unnaturally still, beside the box of new clothing that Nathanos had bought him earlier.

Yurig fetched Nathanos’ carriage from the stables and they loaded the luggage, and Shaw, into its interior. The kodo harnessed to the carriage waited alertly, throwing its head from side to side and snorting through flared nostrils. Kodos didn’t like to be travelling at night. The sky was starless; clouds had been sweeping in from the northeast and now they blanketed the dark vista overhead. The air would soon begin to chill.

Nathanos paused, with his hands gathering the kodo’s reins. Normally, Yurig acted as his driver, but the tauren’s night vision wasn’t adequate to manage a late-night journey over unsettled territory without even stars or moons to cast light. Besides, someone needed to go talk to Baine, and it was not going to be Nathanos.

But that would leave Shaw alone during the trip. Nathanos wanted Yurig with the spymaster. _My presence would not be a comfort to him_. “Where’s Lena?”

“She mentioned something about watching a bunch of taurens drink kodo dip and moonberry juice tonight at the Hall of the Brave. Do you want me to look for her?

“Yes. I want her to drive.”

“I can drive.”

“I want you to talk to Baine.” Nathanos lowered his voice. “About Shaw.”

Yurig cocked one ear. “What do you want me to tell him?”

“There’s nothing to tell.” Shaw emerged from the darkness behind the carriage. _I’d forgotten how quietly he moves when he tries_. “He sees what he sees.”

“And what does he see?” asked Nathanos.

“A traitor.”

“You’re not a traitor.” He didn’t know why it was suddenly so important that Shaw understand this.

“There isn’t any other word for what I am, Blightcaller. If I’d intended to act in Stormwind’s best interests, I’d have made myself known to Greymane before he left. I’d have been aboard that ship when it left. Don’t tell me I couldn’t have done that,” Shaw said flatly. “You know what I am.” His expression was hidden behind the folds of his disguise. “You aren’t even watching me all that closely anymore.”

“Why didn’t you?” It was a question that deserved to be asked, however hurtful it might be.

Shaw shook his head slowly. “I don’t even know any more.” He gave a listless shrug. “Every time I think about escaping…making it back to Stormwind or Kul Tiras…all my insides freeze up. I’m sure it warms your heart to hear that.” He shrugged again, the barest twitch of his shoulders, and he pushed back his hood to expose his face, green eyes flashing in the reflected light from the torches and magestones that illuminated the city. “This is what my life is going to be from now on. The sooner I get used to it the better. You don’t have to shield me from what’s going to happen. They’d have found out about me sooner or later.”

Something had been badly broken inside Shaw, and Nathanos suspected it hadn’t started with Baine. Everything he had said was true. If Shaw had been the man he used to be, he’d have found a way to escape.

“We should not go tonight.” Yurig’s voice was strained, the position of his ears betraying his unhappiness. “We should stay here. Together. Please, my lord, may we go back to the inn?” Yurig’s distress increased. He kept throwing glances at Shaw, as if there were things he wanted to say but didn’t want to say them in front of the human.

“Do you think I’m not picking up on your ear signals, Yurig?” Shaw drawled sarcastically. “I may not have much occasion to practice my skills these days, but that doesn’t mean I’ve lost them. If you have anything to say, you might as well say it in front of me.”

“You stink. It is a stink of the spirit as well as of the body. We must wash it off. Now.”

Shaw shrugged. “I’ve gotten used to the smell. I’ll manage.”

“The stink of the body is easily ignored. The despoiling of the mind, not so easily cleansed.”

“Very deep. Very philosophical. You sound like Baine. Easy to tell you were both raised in the same nest,” Shaw sneered. “You always know what to say to grind people down into the dirt of their own failings. All for their own good. Such a spewing plethora of virtues.”

“My lord.” Yurig’s voice was controlled. “We should return to our room. I can find someone to return your carriage…”

“And then what?” Shaw shoved his hood completely off, baring his naked head and hairless face. “Take another bath? I’m sure that will fix everything.”

“Shaw.” Nathanos put a note of frosty command into his voice. “Enough.” The human’s agitation was growing. If things continued as they were, he would lose control of Shaw. And after that, there was no telling what could result.

My lord…” Yurig turned urgent eyes to Nathanos “…we need to spend time with him. He has been abandoned by his people…”

“Fuck you!” Shaw’s rage nearly strangled him. “Fuck you! Fuck you and your baths and your gentleness…” he choked on the word.

“Shaw. Control yourself!” Nathanos barked. It was the wrong thing to say and he knew it, but he didn’t know what the right thing might be.

“Or what?” Shaw drew himself up, his eyes glittering, a palpable sense of threat welling out from him. “Or you’ll punish me?” he ground out. A knife suddenly appeared in his hand, one of the two that Nathanos wore concealed beneath his coat. Shaw smiled. “I’d like to see you try.” He lunged at Nathanos, who whirled out of the line of the spymaster-assassin’s strike.

Not fast enough. His sleeve gaped open, dark blood sluggishly welling from it.

“Have you people forgotten who I am?! I was killing people before I was old enough to fuck!” Another knife appeared. Shaw had managed to acquire both of them.

Rage enflamed Nathanos’ senses. _He’s challenging me. He wants to force me to…what? To acknowledge him? Or does he simply want me dead_? Nathanos stepped swiftly back, settling his bow into place and nocking an arrow in one smooth action. It was a technique which had been taught to him by Sylvanas a lifetime ago.

Shaw lunged, trying to get in range before Nathanos could fire, but even as his dagger swung in a blurred arc the arrow was loosed. It struck Shaw in the shoulder.

A cry of pain was forced from between Shaw’s clenched teeth. The dagger fell and his left arm hung useless. Nathanos drew and fitted another arrow.

“Stop!” Yurig lunged at Shaw, who whirled and slashed, his off-hand dagger skittering off the tangle of leather and buckles that protected the tauren’s chest, and then followed up with a draw that sliced along Yarig’s arm. Nathanos released and the arrow buried itself in the back of Shaw’s right shoulder.

Shaw pitched forward and Yurig caught the man against his chest. Blood was dripping from the tauren’s arm, mingling with Shaw’s own blood, which was smeared across Yurig’s belly by the time he had Shaw captured.

Nathanos stalked forward. His thoughts were chaotic; rage mixed with bewilderment. How had his handling of Shaw gone so wrong? The human must be taught a lesson. Shaw was mistaken. It was not Nathanos who had forgotten what enemy he faced, it was Shaw.

“Lord Nathanos. Please,” Yurig said desperately, dragging Shaw backwards, away from Nathanos’ approach.

“Halt!” Nathanos snapped. “You will obey me. You will not protect him from me.” He bent to retrieve his knives, wiping and replacing them in their sheaths beneath his coat.

Shaw kicked at him as he approached, the spymaster’s face tight with pain. “Go to hell, Blightcaller. Is that all you’ve got?” His face contorted with pain as the arrows embedded in his shoulder shifted against Yurig’s harness.

“My lord…”

“Silence!” Nathanos thundered. He reached out and captured one of Shaw’s arms, lifting it, his fingers tangling with Shaw’s. He squeezed and twisted, feeling bones breaking beneath his crushing grip.

Shaw’s scream of agony and trapped rage ricocheted off the surrounding buildings. The kodo flung its head up in alarm.

“My lord, don’t…” Tears streamed down the tauren’s face. “My lord, you are hurting yourself as much as you hurt him…”

“I know.” The realization was like the cold splash of a sneak wave, catching Nathanos unprepared. Every wound he inflicted on Shaw, he would feel himself. Afterwards. “We will share pain, then, if this what he chooses to do.”

“No!” Shaw howled. “Fuck you! I don’t want to share anything with you, you undead piece of putrid shit! What are you afraid of? Me?! Your fucking pet?! You think you can hurt me?! Go ahead! Try it!” he screamed in frustration, and there was something in the sound that pierced Nathanos’ confusion.

Shaw wanted to be hurt. He was deliberately provoking Nathanos, inciting him. Knowing exactly what would fuel Nathanos’ rage. Wanting Nathanos to hurt him savagely enough that the act could not be forgiven.

Nathanos let Shaw’s fingers slip from his hand. “No,” he said. “I cannot give you this, Shaw.” Regret twisted inside him as he reached up to brush over the human’s ear. Perhaps it would have been kinder to give Shaw the hurt he was seeking, but Nathanos no longer had that strength. The spymaster’s pain had taken its toll on him as well.

“You fucking bastard.” Shaw gave up the struggle and hung limply in Yurig’s arms. “There really is no mercy in you. You won’t even let me hate you. Fuck you, Blightcaller. Fuck you.” He repeated the words, over and over as Yurig lifted him up and carried him into the inn.

Nathanos collared the nearest orc peon and gave him a handful of coins with orders to return the kodo and carriage to the stable, as well as other tasks to be performed. By the time he was able to join Yurig and Shaw in their rooms, Shaw had given up on coherent speech and only cursed and cried out with pain naked on his face at every shift and jostle of his wounds. He and Yurig were both soaked with blood.

“We need a priest or a potion immediately, my Lord,” Yurig told him. “The undead flesh that he is wearing will get into his wounds and the infection…”

“Already arranged.” The peon had been instructed to send a priest to the inn.

“Let’s get this carrion off him…”

Nathanos cut the ragged disguise from Shaw’s body. The spymaster briefly lost consciousness as the material was stripped from his pierced shoulders. Nathanos knew better than to try and remove the arrows; Shaw might well bleed out before the healer could arrive.

He and Yurig packed cloth ripped from a bedsheet around the arrows, where they protruded from Shaw’s shoulders. The pain roused Shaw into a semi-conscious state. “Fuck you, Blightcaller,” he slurred. “I hate you. Is this all you’ve got?”

Nathanos ordered the tub scrubbed and refilled and watched in ill-concealed impatience as three goblins swarmed it with soap and brushes.

Shaw hung from Yurig’s arms, cradled on the tauren’s lap, eyes closed, being rocked back and forth in a rhythmic movement that was barely perceptible. His breathing was harsh and ragged. Yurig held him without speaking, his fingers rubbing gentle circles against the back of Shaw’s neck.

The tub was half filled by the time the healer arrived. Another goblin…the city was full of them. Refugees from a destroyed homeland, making themselves available at all hours to all customers. Like small green fleas swarming to the clink of gold.

“Whew!” The priest fanned his hand over his nose. “What’s that…I mean…err…you do know that my healing doesn’t work on the Forsaken, right?”

“He’s human,” growled Nathanos. “Just heal him.”

“Somebody needs to pull the arrows out.” The goblin rolled up his sleeves. “Any time you’re ready,” he announced.

Shaw turned his head away, gritting his teeth as Nathanos grasped both parts of the feathered shaft which protruded from Shaw’s left shoulder. A pained sound escaped him as Nathanos broke off the arrow head so the shaft could be drawn through his body without causing more damage. Shaw’s eyes rolled back in his head as the thick shaft was pulled out.

The priest selected a bottle from the box of supplies that he had brought with him, and poured a clear liquid, which bubbled over Shaw’s wounds. Bloody foam dripped down to pool on the floor. “You want two spells or just the one? If you pull ‘em out quick, I can get both with one spell and it’ll get you a discount.”

Nathanos set aside the sudden urge to rip the goblin’s arms off and feed them to him. _It would be better to have this done all at once and not drag it out_. He snapped off the other arrowhead, which had barely emerged from the front of Shaw’s shoulder, then yanked out the second arrow. “Heal him. Now.” Shaw’s chest and arms were slick with blood. Scarlet rivulets had slipped down to streak Shaw’s pubic area and thighs.

The goblin began to chant. Gradually, the blood flow slowed, and eventually ceased. “There you go,” he beamed. “Good as new.” He peered at Shaw’s crushed hand. “Want me to take care of that, too? Bones cost extra because I have to straighten them…right…” he said hastily, catching sight of the expression on Nathanos’ face. “Just serving the cause of full disclosure. Wouldn’t want any misunderstandings. Makes for unhappy customers and we definitely don’t want that.”

Nathanos had briefly considered leaving Shaw with this reminder of the incident, and having the bones set but not magically healed. He had deliberately chosen the spymaster’s non-dominant hand to damage. But it would distress Yurig and probably would not convey any useful lesson to Shaw. “Heal it.”

The last bucket of water had been emptied into the tub by the time the healer was paid and dismissed. He scurried out the door with an expression of obvious relief. Shaw roused as his body was being lowered into the steamy water. “What, no flower smells?” he rasped. “It’s going to take more than water to get rid of this stench.”

By the time he was cleaned, Shaw no longer fought anything that was being done to him. Every touch of Yurig or Nathanos’ hand made the spymaster twitch. His attention span was uncertain. A times he seemed almost lucid, but he would occasionally drift into a glassy-eyed state or curse half-heartedly. His skin was pale and had it not been for the warm water would probably have been clammy; the healer’s spells had obviously not replaced Shaw’s extensive blood loss.

“Do you know what the worst part of this is?” Shaw remarked listlessly as they helped him from the tub. “All this effort that was put into it. The damned rot and the disguise and shaving off my mustache and it was all a Light-be-damned waste. Do you know what else it was? Justice. I got what I damned well deserved, didn’t I?” He gave a choking laugh. “I am such a fool. I suppose there must have been a part of me that still hoped maybe…maybe I’d get to go back home eventually.”

With an unhappy sound of denial, Yurig gathered the human against his chest, cradling Shaw as if he had been a child. “You never wanted to betray your people, Shaw. Not in your heart. You know that you haven’t. Your spirit has just wandered too far from its home right now, and you have nothing to anchor you. It was wrong for us to demand this of you. We will not do so again.” He raised pleading eyes to Nathanos.

 _Yurig has too much faith in me_ , Nathanos thought. It will cause both of us pain when I am forced to shatter it.

“You do not have to face this alone,” Yurig pulled Shaw against him, hand curved protectively around Shaw’s face.

The spymaster broke then, and wept in his arms.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw is a man at war with himself. Nathanos hopes the worst is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a slight warning, there is an incident of cutting in this chapter, so if it is a trigger for you, be cautious.

Sometime after Shaw had dropped into an exhausted sleep, Yurig quietly left to talk to Baine. It turned out to be an unnecessary gesture, he reported to Nathanos several hours later. Apparently, the Thunderhorn and Stonehoof clans had declared war. An incident involving the daughter of Thunderclan’s Chief and a Stonehoof boy. The young tauren boy was killed and fighting had erupted. Four dead and a dozen wounded so far. Baine had left immediately for Thunder Bluff.

Nathanos wondered at the timing of the situation. But he wasn't one to question providence those few times when he found himself on her good side.

It took them all day to make what should have been a two-hour journey. Yurig insisted on driving, the reason for which became clear by the third time he pulled the carriage over “so everyone can stretch their legs” and took them tromping through the undergrowth to one picturesque spot or another. Everybody mostly being Shaw, of course.

Nathanos found the delays irritating, but it did seem to raise Shaw's spirits, so he put his complaints away and did his best to counterfeit equanimity. Lena stayed with the kodos.

They reached Stonecliff Hold just as the last of the red faded from the western sky. Nobody seemed surprised when Nathanos insisted on a bath. Shaw participated without resentment, but also without enthusiasm.

Shaw and Yurig shared the tauren’s bed that night, with Shaw sleeping in the curve of Yurig’s body and Nathanos sitting beside their bed, tending the fire and reading. It was a strangely comfortable arrangement, Nathanos admitted, and one which was repeated more often than not in the following weeks.

* * *

“No. I refuse to throw Wildmane lives away on a symbolic gesture. This island has no strategic value…” Yaran Wildmane scowled about the room at the orcs, his ears flattened in displeasure. There were nine orcish Chieftains gathered round a single table. Nathanos considered it a minor miracle that no weapons had been drawn yet. Of course, much of the credit for that might come from the fact that he had insisted that no orcs be seated next to another; they were all kept physically separated by tauren and trolls. Not that the trolls were much better, but at least most of them could be counted on to disagree with the orcs without provoking a fight.

Two weeks ago, Nathanos had been summoned to Grommash Hold, to attend the meeting of the war council. It was not an optional invitation. Sylvanas had called it, mostly because she could. She liked having the Horde chieftains dancing on her whims. And he did have to admit it was entertaining. Put a couple of dozen chieftains together in a room and you didn’t even have to have an agenda. They made it up as they went along.

Baine was still in Thunder Bluff, trying to work things out with his warring clans. Nathanos’ eyes ranged across the various faces; orcs, trolls, tauren, even goblins. He and Sylvanas were the only Forsaken present. Not that his presence was necessary; the Banshee Queen was more than able to hold her own. But Sylvanas liked the symbol that he represented, standing behind her, a silent, glowering presence. A threat and a weapon. It was a role that he had become accustomed to over the years.

They were arguing strategies. Darkshore, Silithus, Theramore, Kul Tiras, even Stormwind itself. Just a lot of bluster, typical orcs. The tauren and trolls were more concerned with home defense. None of them had a clue as to how serious campaign should be waged. He could have offered them a few pointers, if they had asked.

There were few living who remembered that Nathanos had once been considered a master strategist, first for the Alliance and then for the Horde. And truth be told, he preferred it that way. What had once been a grand passion for him now seemed merely...routine. Pointless. The variations had all been played out, over and over.

A troll messenger came jogging in through the entrance way holding a rolled-up parchment displaying a large blue and gold seal. Sylvanas held out her hand; the message was handed to her. She unrolled it with a deliberation that told Nathanos its arrival was not a surprise to her, and more than likely she already knew its contents.

Nathanos waited, watching the faces of the Horde’s chieftains. Most of the orcs were visibly struggling with irritation. Not surprising; after two hours of argument, nothing had been decided. Some of the trolls and a few tauren were in the orcs’ camp, preferring a Horde of action. But they were not yet prepared to confront Azshara directly, especially not with the uneasy threat represented by the Alliance and Kul Tiras.

One by one they fell silent, watching Sylvanas, who, by Nathanos’ estimate, was re-reading the message for the third time just to draw the moment out. Then she lifted her head and smiled. “I have some entertaining news,” she announced with smug grandeur. “The little lion of the Alliance plans to grace us with his presence in three week’s time.”

 _Ah_. That explained why she had wanted the meeting. Nathanos hoped she wasn’t planning any kind of covert action that would put the human king at risk. With Greymane at its helm, the Alliance would become a much greater threat to the Horde, with obvious consequences. That would play directly into Azshara and N’Zoth’s hands.

“We must be sure to welcome him properly. Don't you agree, High Overlord?” Sylvanas regarded the orc with the air of a cat eyeing an unsuspecting mouse.

Saurfang grunted and shrugged, staring sullenly back at her. “Why is he coming here?” His posture seemed strangely tense, as if the answer was somehow of importance to him.

“The message doesn't say.” Sylvanas re-rolled the message and tossed it to him. Saurfang caught it with a snap of his wrist but didn't open it. “First the wolf and now the lion. It's too bad we couldn't have caught them together; they’d have made a lovely pair, chained in my dungeon.”

Several of the orcs laughed. Saurfang merely stared at her coldly, the rolled message gripped in his hand. There was no love lost between the warchief and her high overlord. It could hardly have been otherwise. Sylvanas had no interest in something as pointless as honor, Nathanos thought with a bitter snort, and Saurfang held that particular virtue above all others.

Sylvanas smirked at Saurfang. “High Overlord, you look displeased. Could it be that you are not looking forward to the little lion’s visit?”

“No. I'm not.” Saurfang's tusked jaw jutted forward and his eyes glittered in the torch light. “No one who has the best interests of the Horde at heart would be. We should be mobilizing to deal with the naga, not playing diplomatic games, and if the Alliance was planning on doing anything useful at this meeting, they’d have said so. Unless there’s something you left out in your translation. I’ll read this later, to see if there’s something you might have missed.”

Sylvanas went very still and for a moment Nathanos wasn't sure if she would take issue with Saurfang's insult, but then her eyes narrowed as the corners of her mouth pulled up in a cold smile. “Surely you don't consider the Alliance’s little golden boy-king a threat? Afraid that he'll sneak into your room at night and ambush you in your bed?”

The muscles of Saurfang's arms and along his neck bulged and for a moment Nathanos was certain the orc was about to attack Sylvanas. His hand crept over to his shoulder to brush fingertips over the fletching on his arrows. Just a reminder. He saw Saurfang's eyes flicker to him and then back to Sylvanas.

Then Saurfang rose slowly to his feet. “I have more important matters to attend to than your…amusement.” He stepped around the table and exited the hall.

Sylvanas frowned. “Nathanos,” she snapped. “Come.”

* * *

“This may be the opportunity that we have been waiting for.” Sylvanas padded restlessly about the room, a dagger clenched in her hand, her long dark fingers rubbing its tip. “If the king is coming, odds are good that he'll have Jaina with him for protection.” Sylvanas threw Nathanos a smug smile. “She won't risk leaving him alone with me.”

It was true. It was the perfect opportunity. As long as Sylvanas didn’t mind risking outright war with Kul Tiras and the Alliance. There was nothing more likely to unite the two factions against the Horde than having Jaina Proudmoore disappear from a peace conference in Orgrimmar.

“Would it not be better for her to be taken in Stormwind? Perhaps if we plant spies on their ship...”

“Plant spies on their ship?” Sylvanas sneered. “Is this the best strategy that you are capable of, Nathanos? Perhaps it is time to retire you. You seem to be good for exactly nothing these days.”

It was an accusation that cut unexpectedly deeply. _Perhaps there is no longer a point to my existence_. Once he had lived for Sylvanas. No more.

She halted, mid-stride, and her eyes narrowed. “You will use Shaw. Proudmoore will know they are looking for him. She'll trust him. He can get close enough to administer a sleeping drug.”

“It would destroy him,” Nathanos said flatly, “to be used in that way.”

“You coddle him. You have no idea how strong he is, Nathanos. No doubt he takes advantage of that ignorance to foster an illusion of fragility.” Her voice took on a sickly sweet note. “Poor little broken Shaw, thrown into despair because his old friends think he's a traitor. You have me to thank for the fact that Baine couldn't immediately run back to Stormwind and spill his guts to the Alliance, by the way.”

“You have my thanks for that, my queen, but I am quite certain that my assessment of the human is the correct one. He will not knowingly allow himself to be used to capture Proudmoore. And if I use him without his knowledge, it will destroy him.”

“Then be certain he never finds out.” Sylvanas’ tone conveyed to Nathanos that she would hear no more on the subject. “You have your orders.”

“As you wish, my lady. I'll return to Stonecliff to make preparations.” He turned crisply and exited, without waiting for a dismissal.

* * *

There was more bad news waiting for him in a folded note on his desk at the inn. “SI:7 agent. Infiltrated.”

The note was not signed, but Yurig would have known Nathanos could recognize his carefully precise hand.

Apprehension crawled into the pit of Nathanos’ stomach. The intruder was most likely an agent deposited by Greymane. It might have taken the man this long to discover where Shaw was, or at least suspect, or he may have been lurking in the vicinity, waiting for Nathanos’ absence from the hold.

He threw his possessions into his traveling bag and headed swiftly for the stable.

* * *

“My lord, thank the Earthmother you're here.” Yurig grasped Nathanos’ waist, not waiting for permission before swinging him down from the carriage seat.

“Where is he?”

“In one of the basement cells.”

Nathanos frowned. “I meant Shaw.”

“Yes, my lord. Please, it's best if you just come and see for yourself.”

Nathanos followed him into the hold.

* * *

What little light seeped into the cell was barely adequate to illuminate Shaw's huddled form. He was chained to the wall. Not far from him was the neatly laid out body of a goblin woman dressed in the blouse and skirt of a household servant.

Shaw lifted his head at Nathanos’ approach.

“My lord. He is armed with at least one knife,” Yurig told him unhappily.

Nathanos noted a crisply white cloth wrapped around the tauren’s upper arm. “Tell me what happened.”

“Lena caught the spy in conversation with Shaw. The two of them engaged and Lena was badly cut. She'd the presence of mind not to come alone, and the spy was taken. We put her in a cell but…” Yurig’s ears drooped in shame “...she died. Lena uses poison. We didn't know.”

“And Shaw?”

“He was the one who found her body. My lord,” Yurig’s voice broke. “I didn't know what to do.”

“You did as you should. You sent for me.” Nathanos brushed his hand over Yurig’s lower back; the tauren needed some kind of tactile reassurance. “I'll deal with Shaw.”

The cell door was unlocked. Nathanos let himself inside. His dark vision adjusted itself immediately, snapping the cell's interior into sharp focus.

The goblin girl was young. Nathanos estimated that she was in her early twenties. She had the race’s characteristic spray of hair. Purple, the color they favored most. Facial features, clothing…everything about her was obviously created to blend into a crowd. Typical SI:7.

“I wondered how long it would take him to call you in.” Shaw's gaze strayed to the dead woman. “It should have been me.”

“Did you know her?”

“She was Renzik’s.” There was a frailty in the human's face, skin drawn tight over a frame that seemed almost emaciated. Yurig had mentioned in his last communication that Shaw wasn't eating or sleeping well. _I was too distracted by Sylvanas to give the matter my attention_.

Nathanos noticed a scattering of small wounds across Shaw's bare arms. He wore a rolled-up night shirt and trousers. His feet were bare.

As he watched, Shaw, almost absently, put the point of his dagger to an unmarked patch of skin on his arm and pressed it in. A small upwelling of blood crept down a blade already stained red.

“Shaw,” said Nathanos. “Give me the knife.”

“She was his favorite.” The blade twitched again. Deeper. Blood dripped down to stain his trousers.

Nathanos approached, wary to any movement that Shaw might make.

“She was sent to find me. To free me. I told her I…” Shaw shook his head. “Then Lena showed up. And things went to hell. I came down here, got her out of the manacles. I was going to let her go.” Defiance flashed in his eyes for a moment, then drained away into grief. “And then she fell over. And I thought…it should have been me. In her place. I wanted it to be me. This is where we end up…loyal agents. In the enemy’s dungeons, being tortured. Mine was right across the hall…you remember that, Blightcaller. I was there and you came in and I thought you were going to…” the air was forced from Shaw’s lungs as if he had been kicked “…but you didn’t and you should have because I’m not a traitor, Blightcaller. I will never be a traitor.”

Nathanos bent down and plucked the dagger from Shaw's unresisting fingers.

Shaw's head fell back against the dirty stone. “Why can't it just be me, Blightcaller?”

 _I'm losing him_.

Nathanos brushed the thought away impatiently. _No._ _He just needs to be kept busy_. Shaw needed something to distract him from the contents of his own head. Extracting a lockpick from an inner pocket, Nathanos knelt down in front of Shaw.

Shaw assessed his efforts with a kind of weary interest. “There are easier techniques. And you're holding it wrong.”

One of the cuffs clicked open and slid to the floor with a quiet clank. “Perhaps you'll teach them to me...”

A smile ghosted across Shaw's face but didn't stay, as if it had found no welcome there.

The second manacle dropped. Nathanos turned the wrist over; the skin was smooth and unmarked.

“I wasn't trying to kill myself.”

“I know.” _I cannot use him as Sylvanas wants. Not in this condition._

_Not ever._

“Come, Shaw. You'll feel better after some breakfast.” Nathanos regretted having sent Yurig away. The tauren had a far better understanding of how to properly craft words of comfort. “I...will have her body returned to Stormwind. If that is what you would like. If that would give you comfort.”

A storm of emotions broke in the man's eyes and then just as quickly, a door slammed shut. “Yes. Please.” His voice had returned to its careful monotone.

Sylvanas would see returning the agent’s body as a gesture of contempt. _Teaching the Alliance the price of invading our shores_. Nathanos wondered if the girl’s kin would see it for what it was. “Come.”

Shaw rose to his feet. He waited, eyes unseeing, awaiting Nathanos’ instructions.

Nathanos led him up the stairs and down the hallways, until they reached his bedroom. Inside, Lena was sitting in his chair, staring pensively at a dagger on his writing desk.

As he entered, she started and hastily shot up to her feet. “Lord Blightcaller. A thousand apologies. I was just...”

He waved his hand.

Her eyes narrowed as Shaw entered the room behind him. She snatched the dagger off the desk and sheathed it.

Shaw ignored her, staring listlessly at the floor, which Nathanos could see had been recently cleaned. “Shaw. Go sit at your desk. Work on your scripting.” It was the only task he could set the man to at the moment.

There was no flicker of emotion in Shaw's eyes as he obeyed.

“What happened?” Nathanos asked Lena in a low growl.

She closed her eyes in shame. “I beg your forgiveness. I should not have engaged, especially not with a poisoned blade.” Her chest and abdomen were thickly wrapped with bandages. “By the time I was recovered enough to speak, she was already dead.”

“It can't be helped now. Make sure that your blade is cleaned properly and left that way.” Poison was not an amateur's weapon, Nathanos frowned as he seated himself at his desk. Too easy to make a mistake, and accidentally kill someone better left alive for questioning.

The door shut quietly behind Lena. Nathanos glanced over at Shaw. The man was sitting at the desk which Nathanos had brought into his room specifically for Shaw's use. A book was open on the desk, and Nathanos could see Shaw's eyes moving, but as the minutes dragged by and no pages were turned it became obvious that his mind was not on his studies.

Shaw’s clothing hung far too loosely on him and the signs of sleep deprivation had been evident.

Nathanos went in search of Yurig.

* * *

“My apologies, Lord. I kept hoping he would recover. Yesterday, I discovered that he had been concealing the extent of his reluctance to eat. I could see that he had grown thin. I found a collection of moldy foodstuffs on the ground beneath your window.”

“You mentioned that he has not been sleeping well?”

“He has nightmares. Almost every night. Once, he called out a name...Eirwinn? Does he have a mate?”

“Not that I have any information on.” Shaw's mother and grandmother were the only kin he had on record for Shaw, and both were dead. “Could the name have been Edwin?” It was known that Shaw had trained Edwin VanCleef, the rebel who had been responsible for the riot which caused Queen Tiffin's death fifteen years ago. There was some speculation that Shaw and Edwin had been lovers at one time.

“I don't know. Maybe. I only heard it once. Normally, his nightmares are silent. The first time he experienced one, I assumed he was having a fit.”

“When did this start?”

“I'm fairly certain it has something to do with information which Rio Larrek brought him a few weeks ago. It started with a routine document put out by the Boralus Harbormaster, listing all the ships of the line with their tonnage, class and condition. Rio got him a recent listing and something that he saw in it caused Shaw to become agitated. He demanded that Rio find him an older listing.

“Was the spy able to procure the document?”

“Several of them. He had to hand copy them from archives, but they aren't sensitive documents so they weren't even under lock and key.”

“And then?”

“I saw him tear a piece of paper out of one and put it into his pocket. Then he burned the papers. After that... he just seemed to lose interest in everything. I hoped that it would get better when you returned, my lord. And then... this…

“Draw a bath, Yurig. As you have mentioned, he needs to be reminded that he is not alone.”

* * *

Shaw allowed himself to be bathed, but the experience was not what Nathanos had hoped. It wasn't that the human was resisting. He followed every instruction given, apologizing for being unable to achieve even a hint of arousal.

Yurig dried and oiled him. Nathanos folded him into bed.

That night, while Shaw rasped and tossed in an uneasy sleep, Nathanos took the opportunity to search his desk. He finally found what he was looking for beneath an ink pad; slip of paper torn out from a ship's listing. It read “ _Middenwake_ , _Pinnacle_ class, medium tonnage, lost in enemy engagement - all hands”. The lettering was faded, as if the paper had been rubbed between someone’s fingers, over and over.

Nathanos replaced the paper and spent the rest of the night sitting beside the bed, watching Shaw as he slept and considering what could be done for him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's only so much pain a man can take. Shaw is...done.

Shaw slumped against the headboard of the bed in Nathanos’ room, hands gathered in his lap and eyes carelessly vacant. Fresh blood stained his shirt, a mute testimony to the man’s inner state. For two days he had only left Nathanos’ rooms when he was instructed to do so. He showed no interest in anything. He was compliant without being willing.

But Nathanos could not accuse the man of being unwilling, either. It was simply that Shaw had nothing left to give.

Yurig had tried to reach him. But the more gentle the tauren became, the more tactile, the more careful…the more Shaw seemed to drift away from them.

Nathanos looked down at Shaw. “Why do you harm yourself?” he asked. It was a thing that troubled Nathanos more than any other aspect of Shaw’s condition.

Shaw considered the question for a moment. He took a small, shallow breath. “I can’t…live. You won’t allow me to die. I just need something to get me through each day, and this…” he gestured to the tiny pinpricks of scarlet “…does the job. It’s an easier pain to live with. If you take it away, Blightcaller…” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to keep to the terms of our bargain. It has been harder than I expected.”

That brilliant flame that was Mathias Shaw...was dying. Nathanos could see it fade a little more each day. It had been hate that made the spymaster strong. That's how he survived Sylvanas. But Nathanos had stolen that from him, and now there was nothing to sustain the man.

An unfamiliar feeling rose up in Nathanos, and he struggled to identify it.

Fear.

Something precious was about to be lost.

 _I cannot keep him_.

 _Time to let go_. He had known that this time would come eventually. And he had struggled to decide how his time with Shaw should be ended.

Nathanos rose and fetched a wine glass. He poured out a small portion, and added three drops from one of the tiny glass bottles that he kept locked in his writing desk.

Shaw's eyes followed him, dull and uncaring.

He returned, seating himself on the bed beside his captive. "It's time to end this, Shaw."

A small tremor ran through the man's body, then settled. "Are you going to keep your promises, Blightcaller?"

"I am. You will not be raised as an undead. Not if it is in my power to prevent."

"Thank you."

Nathanos placed the glass against his lips and Shaw drank, with only a moment of hesitation, then settled back against the pillows.

"Come," said Nathanos. "Into my arms."

Shaw rearranged himself so that he lay against Nathanos' chest. His body was tense.

Nathanos wrapped the man in his arms. _Everything that has gone between us is a lie,_ he told himself _. He has not given it; I have stolen it from him. I just have this little time left with him and I do not want to give it up until I must._

Shaw's muscles began to relax. "How long?"

"Not long."

Shaw's fingers curled around Nathanos' arm. "I thought I was ready," he said. "But I guess you never can be."

"Just close your eyes." Nathanos raised a hand to comb through Shaw's hair, which had begun to grow out. "When you open them, you'll be home."

"Home in the Light?" Bitterness edged the spymaster's snort. "Was that meant to be comforting? Are you going soft on me, Blightcaller?"

"Home. Stormwind. What I gave you was a sleeping draught, Shaw. I'm going to have you portaled to Stormwind. Directly into the palace courtyard, if you like." Nathanos smiled, thinking of the stir it would cause, the long-lost spymaster appearing unexpectedly in their midst. Opening a portal inside the palace would have been more amusing, but the area was too well protected.

Sylvanas would be angry. But as long as Nathanos was willing to give her what she wanted, she would leave Shaw alone.

Shaw's fingers dug into Nathanos' arm. If he'd been human it would have caused him discomfort, but undead flesh was less troublesome. The spymaster seemed to be having trouble speaking, his throat convulsing with the effort. He swallowed. "Then...what? You expect me to spy for you there?”

"No tricks, Shaw. No games. I'm letting you go." He had offered the spymaster what he thought was death, and Shaw had accepted. That was the last test Nathanos needed to give before making his decision.

There was a long moment. Silence stretched across them both, broken only by the sound of one man breathing, a shattered rhythm that rose and fell like the struggles of a dying animal. Then Shaw gave his head a violent shake.

"It's all right," Nathanos murmured. "It doesn't matter if you believe me or not."

"Why? It makes no sense. Why let me go?"

"Because..." It was oddly painful, trying to find the words that would answer the question that Shaw was asking him. "I don’t completely understand it myself," he admitted, honestly. "Somehow, your life has become..." _precious_ , he thought, but could not bring himself to voice the word. "I do not wish to see it lost."

"Why not keep me, then?"

"I cannot. I see you slipping away from me a little more each day. If I do not end this, there will be nothing left. If I must lose you, and it seems I must, I would rather lose you in this way."

Shaw acknowledged the truth of Nathanos' words with his silence. Then, "I can't go back," he said.

"Why not?"

"The man I was..." his voice broke, "…doesn’t exist anymore. I don't want them to see what I've become. Everyone who depended on me will have moved on. Passwords changed. Secrets hidden. Operations moved. Lovers gone." A bright spill of grief twisted in his expression. "Duties reassigned. There won't be a place for me there now. And even if there was..." Shaw's eyes were heavy with loss. "I wouldn't fit into it anymore. Anything…everything…that I might have returned for is gone. The man I was…is gone."

Nathanos' arm tightened around Shaw's chest, and his fingers found the back of Shaw's neck, rubbing gently over the warm skin. "What do you want, Shaw?"

"You're...asking me? Giving me a choice? That's a first," Shaw said dully.

Nathanos found himself once again missing Shaw's self-confidence, his passion. The loss of it was like an empty, aching hole in his chest. _If there is anything in our lives I will never be able to forgive you for, my queen, it is this…_ "Yes."

"Kill me, then."

"I..." _can't_.

 _I've killed so many...why can't I kill this man_?

It should be an easy thing. A twist of the neck. Poison. A bladed weapon slipped between the third and fourth ribs. Point of a dagger to sever the spine, high up on the neck. Fingers over his mouth and nose, stopping the airflow. Head held beneath the water.

His fingers slid over the smooth lumps of Shaw's spine, felt the trapped beat of the man's heart against his arm.

 _I can't_.

"Please," he said. "Live."

The rhythm of Shaw's heartbeat increased. His breath caught in a small gasp. "You don't have the right to ask that of me," he choked. "Not after the things you've done."

"No," Nathanos acknowledged. "I don't. But I ask it of you nonetheless."

Shaw drew in a half dozen shaky breaths, his fingers still digging into Nathanos' arm. "Then what? How does anything change?"

"I will...give you choices. Some control. As much as I safely can."

"Will you let me leave you? Can I just walk out of here and go?"

"It would not be safe." That wasn't the reason for the refusal, and he was certain that Shaw knew it. But he did not suspect the whole of it. The thought of Shaw wandering, unprotected and out of his control, prey for whatever power took an interest in him next… _you are the fool that Sylvanas has named you, Blightcaller. You have let this human burrow too deeply inside you._

"And what will you give me, if I agree?"

"I told you. Choices."

Shaw gave a bitter snort. "Giving me back something after you took it away...that's not worth much."

It was worth a great deal to a man in his situation. Shaw knew it. But he wanted more. And he had a point; if Nathanos wasn't willing to give him more, what had he to live for?

“I don’t want to be your pet anymore. If you want me to value my life you need to give me a reason.” Shaw’s posture had straightened and there was a glint of challenge in his green eyes. “I need to know that what I do will have the power to affect the things I care about.”

"I am not a chieftain, nor do I have the power to affect their decisions."

"I know. But you do have influence. I don't expect that you can end the war. Just...a little mercy, every now and then. For myself or someone else. The chance to…make a difference. There is often more than one way to accomplish the same result, some bloodier than others. There will be casualties. Prisoners of war. The chieftains care more about taking prisoners than they do about what happens to them afterward."

“They may not thank you for it,” Nathanos pointed out bluntly. “You’ll be seen as a traitor.”

“I can live with that,” Shaw said quietly. “As long as you and I know the truth.”

“We’ll have to give the impression that you are still completely under my control. Sylvanas will approve of that, and it will give you a great deal of freedom. As long as you are careful.” It would be hard to hide from Sylvanas. She did not approve of mercy. But if it was Shaw's price, Nathanos would pay it. “Very well. I…accept your terms.”

Shaw rose to his feet and stood, swaying for a moment, looking like he’d been swallowed whole by something too large for him to comprehend. Clumsily, he put his feet into his boots. “I’m going to take a walk,” he said. Then his legs gave way and he tumbled to the ground. “Oh.” He blinked in surprise. “Right.”

Nathanos scooped him up, deposited him in bed and removed his boots.

“Maybe later,” Shaw said sleepily, and closed his eyes.

Nathanos returned to his desk, to think. He could not be entirely pleased by the current state of events. Sending Shaw to Stormwind would have been an ideal way to remove him from Sylvanas’ plans. And contrary to what he had implied to Shaw, he had no intention of abandoning the man for good. A few years is all it would have taken to settle Sylvanas with her pet, and for Shaw to grow strong again.

At least, that had been his plan.

Now, everything had changed. It would be both easier and more difficult between he and Shaw. Less worrisome, but he suspected that it wouldn’t be long before Shaw was testing the length and thickness of his new leash. Nathanos would have to give him more than the illusion of freedom, and trust that Shaw understood the dangers of exceeding his limits.

But in order to keep Shaw safe, Jaina Proudmoore would have to be delivered to Sylvanas. And Nathanos had no idea how he might be able to accomplish that.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new day dawns for Shaw and Nathanos. Better than they had once anticipated, but not without its challenges.

Nathanos Blightcaller, Lord of Stonecliff, former Ranger Lord of Quel’Thalas, Champion of the Banshee Queen, sat ill at ease in the kitchen of his hold, waiting to be served.

“You have a number of very oddly labeled tins on your shelves, Blightcaller,” the spymaster called out from the pantry. “Goblin bits? Dare I even ask?”

“It's not made from actual goblins, if that's what you're worried about,” Nathanos told him with a trace of aspersion. “I believe Shin Shin has been experimenting with different blends of spices, each meant to appeal to a particular race.” Shin Shin was the Pandaran cook who Nathanos kept because of her ability to coax from his food flavors which appealed to Nathanos’ dulled palate. “If you continue your explorations in that area, I believe you will find ‘Tauren Bits’ and ‘Orc Bits’ as well.”

There was a long pause. “Quite right. Well done, Blightcaller. I'd never have suspected you of being the kind of man who was familiar with the contents of his own pantry.”

“Don't jump to the wrong conclusions. One of the secrets to administering potions orally is in masking the flavor properly. Each specific potion must be matched with a number of flavor blends, to determine which combinations are least detectable. But I'm certain you are quite familiar with the process.”

“Quite. Aha. This is what we need...” There was a small choking noise “...and quite fresh. Good.”

Shaw came padding out of the pantry. He was barefoot and wore an oversized linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Nathanos had offered to purchase him more appropriately sized bed clothes, but Shaw had declined, claiming he liked having the extra room.

Nathanos suspected it had more to do with the tauren’s scent, which would still be lingering on Yurig’s shirt. Yurig was in Mulgore visiting kin, which left Shaw in an empty bed most nights.

“I do confess to a certain curiosity.” Shaw selected one of two pots heating on the stove and poured a dark brown liquid into the seeping pot on the kitchen table. “You don't do your own tasting, do you?”

“Of course not.” With his reduced senses, Nathanos would be hard put to identify most of his blends by taste alone. Of course, the fact that the Forsaken were immune to most poisons made that fact of little consequence. Except in the circumstances that Shaw was bringing up.

“Who tastes your poisons, Blightcaller?” Shaw asked bluntly. There was a slight edge to his voice.

“Who tastes yours?” Nathanos challenged.

“We do.” Shaw frowned at him. “Partly to obtain tolerance. But...also...avoiding being poisoned is part of SI:7 training. The lower ranks spend a fair amount of time in the privy or infirmary if they aren't quick learners. We try to impress upon them the belief that, to the experienced agent, there is no such thing as an undetectable poison. How do you train your spies to avoid poisons?”

Nathanos gave a shrug. “Not my area of responsibility. Spying is a much less institutionalized profession for the Horde.”

Shaw seated himself at the table, re-rolled a sleeve which had fallen down to his wrist, and begin dropping pinches into the seeping liquid from bags of herbs which he had neatly arranged on the table.

Arranged alphabetically, Nathanos noted. Shaw tended to be annoyingly organized. Just one of the habits which had been re-emerging as the man recovered himself.

“That would explain why they're so easy to poison. Some of them,” Shaw amended. “You could do with a bit more structure in your training plan. Not that I'm volunteering, let me make that clear.”

Nathanos filed the suggestion away as a subject for further discussion, wondering if this was Shaw's subtle way of trying to make himself more useful without admitting to it.

“But you've managed to divert me from my question. Who do you test your poisons on, Blightcaller?” There was a stern note in Shaw's voice that warned he would not be diverted again.

Nathanos wrestled with a sudden surge of anger, a frequent occurrence during this period of adjustment. Hardly a day went by when he was not overwhelmingly tempted to have Shaw gagged and carried downstairs to be thoroughly and repeatedly racked.

“Goblins,” he said in clipped tones.

“Goblins?” Shaw's bushy eyebrows rose almost to merge with his tousled fringe of hair. Two months of growth had nearly restored the spymaster’s facial hair to its precise and shining glory, and the hair on his head had a brilliant coppery highlight in the sun. “You poison goblins? I mean...don't get me wrong, I've poisoned quite a number of them myself, but none of them were civilians.”

“I don't poison the goblins. They poison themselves. For money. Poison Tasters Guild. It's virtually run by goblins, who are quite good at identifying scent blends. The guild grew much larger when they branched out into poison testing as well as tasting. Added members from all of the other races. As I understand, it's easier…as they put it…easier to subcontract when you don't have to do an on-site...” He gave Shaw a warning look. “I have never asked them for further details and frankly, I don't think you should, either.”

“Hmm.” Shaw lifted the lid from his seeping pot and let the fragrance waft up into his flared nostrils. “Coming right along. Good. I think you'll find this blend quite pleasing.”

“I don't like coffee, Shaw,” he reminded the man.

“I keep telling you, that's because you've never had it the way we make it.” Then the breath was forced out of Shaw’s lungs, a stricken look passing over his features. He rose quickly, turning his face away to stare down at a second pot on the stove. After a moment he continued, his voice seemingly normal. “This is the secret. Roasted pods of Criollo, from the Cape of Stranglethorn, ground and simmered.” He poured a generous portion into the seeping pot, and returned the pan to the stove. “And a secret blend of herbs, known only to the elite coffee drinkers of Kul Tiras. According to the elite coffee drinkers of Kul Tiras.”

“I wasn’t aware that you knew a lot of Kul Tirans,” Nathanos remarked. He wondered if Shaw would ever choose to speak of the grief that was clearly still giving him pain.

Shaw avoided his eyes. “Admiral Proudmoore brought that particular vice to Stormwind with her. I always thought it was a little weird how much Greymane liked flavored coffees.”

“What a delightful image. The wolf lapping up herbed coffee from a bowl. Hiccoughing.”

Shaw scowled. “If you ever tell him I told you that…” Then all expression was swept from his face. “Not an issue, I suppose.” He rose and padded to a cupboard, from which he extracted two mugs.

Nathanos noted that the spymaster hadn’t even had to search for where the mugs were stored. “You seem quite familiar with the layout of my kitchen.”

“I’ve cased the place a time or two,” Shaw confessed. He placed a cloth strainer over the top of a mug and half filled it from the seeping pot. “Here. Try this. Careful, it’s hot.”

“Not a consideration.” Nathanos reminded him. He eyed the beverage.

“Don’t sniff it. Just sip. The two senses need to work together.”

“Very well. Do not expect me to pretend to enjoy it, though.” Nathanos raised the mug to his lips and took several swallows. The flavor exploded over his tongue, spreading the smooth richness all the way to the back of his palate. He took another swallow. And another. He closed his eyes, letting the flavors capture his senses.

After a time, the mug was empty and the flavor was fading from his memory. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes.

Shaw’s lips twitched and he sipped his own coffee with a knowing smile. “Tolerable, then, hmm?”

“It was…exquisite,” Nathanos admitted. Shaw’s eyes raised to his, and they shared a rare moment of perfect agreement. It was such a balm to the spirit, Nathanos thought, to be able to admit to taking his ease, taking pleasure in something so simple as a cup of liquid, and to know that Shaw would not seek to use the admission against him or deem it a weakness.

A sudden longing rose up in him, to be able to share more than a simple cup of coffee with the man. _There is so much that might be accomplished, were we to truly become allies_. “There’s something…” He broke off. _No. This is not a problem that can be shared_.

Shaw reached over and plucked the empty mug from Nathanos’ hand, refilling it and setting it before him. “Something you want to talk about but aren’t sure if it’s safe to talk about it with me?” he guessed. “You’ve been dancing around it all day; don’t think I haven’t noticed.” He refilled his own mug and leaned back in the chair, sipping it. “I’m not as fragile these days, Blightcaller,” he said, but he didn’t meet Nathanos’ gaze as he sipped his coffee.

Nathanos considered his options carefully. Once Shaw knew about Sylvanas' plan to kidnap Jaina, there would be no going back. Had Shaw been a man more focused on preserving his own life, the choice would have been easy. But there was no question in Nathanos' mind that Shaw would sacrifice his life if he believed it would keep the Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras safe. Even if he believed that Nathanos would abandon him to Sylvanas as a consequence of the actions.

His only hope would be in convincing Shaw that a solution might be reached. A solution which was of benefit to both the Alliance and the Horde, and which would not be a betrayal of the Kul Tiran admiral. In order to do that he was going to have to give Shaw just enough information to get his cooperation, and hope he never found out the full scope of what Nathanos was planning.

At least, not until it was too late for him to do anything about it.

"Very well, Shaw. I had hoped I would not be forced to make you aware of the situation, but if you are determined to be included in my decisions when they involve you..." He paused, and waited for the spymaster's reply.

Shaw swallowed. "That bad, hmm?" He swirled the coffee about in his mug, staring down into it for a moment, then took several gulps, obviously trying to steel himself. "You never mentioned what Sylvanas demanded. In trade for me. I know it was...significant. She told me that you were going to pay a high price for me. Told me you'd expect to get your money's worth."

The spymaster was eerily intuitive. "Yes. That is essentially...correct."

The silence that fell over them was uncomfortable. Nathanos was already regretting his moment of weakness.

"What does she want, Blightcaller? Or...who?"

He had considered and discarded several possible methods for getting close enough to Jaina Proudmoore that she might be taken. All of them were risky. The one which included Shaw’s participation would be like balancing on a slender branch during a windstorm. One fall, and it was almost certain that he would lose Shaw. But it was also the only one which had any hope of succeeding.

Nathanos made his decision. "Jaina Proudmoore, Shaw. That is her price. And she requires that I use you to do it."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Orgrimmar readies itself for a visit from the human king, Nathanos and Shaw are making their own plans. Nathanos worries about the effect seeing his king is going to have on Shaw.

“The king of Stormwind’s flagship will probably be docking soon. If you want to impress him with your efficiency, now would be the time to put your honor escort together. Have them assembled by the time that humans are stepping onto our shores.” Nathanos stood at ease before high overlord Saurfang, trying to ignore the nagging desire to give his dark clothing a good brushing.

As soon as Shaw had identified the king’s flagship after recognizing certain members of its crew, Nathanos had thrown a leg over a waiting kodo and ridden at top speed for Orgrimmar. Being Forsaken, he wasn't gasping and winded as a living messenger would have been, so his dignity remained unfractured in that regard, but the red dust of Durotar coated his clothing and hair, a thing he found quite distasteful.

Saurfang barked out orders to two of the orcs that had followed him into Grommash Hold, and they raced out. Dignity was optional with orcs. Then he turned on Nathanos with a sneer. “I'll be sure to compliment the warchief on the efficiency of her messenger.” The word he spoke in orcish, _rukat_ , was used to refer to slaves and children sent out on errands, not the heraldic profession, or the more neutral term meaning “one who carries a message.”

The old orc was better at cutting his enemies down with an axe then he was with words. Nathanos had been verbally stabbed by enemies far more cunning with their sarcasm. He smiled pleasantly. “I'm sure she will appreciate knowing in what regard you hold those acting on her commands.”

“Probably in as much regard as she holds you herself.” Saurfang's lip curled. “So...what did you do to get yourself assigned to beach duty, Blightcaller?” the orc snorted.

It was a question that Saurfang had been picking at all week. He was always looking for a way to throw a wedge between his warchief and her Champion. Nathanos knew he assumed it was some kind of punishment. That was good; it meant that he didn’t know about Shaw.

“Failed to do a good enough job licking her arsehole clean?” Saurfang continued.

It was a particularly orcish insult. For a man to use his tongue on a woman's anus was considered the ultimate degradation. Nathanos gave Saurfang a cold stare, more because it was required than because he particularly cared what Saurfang thought of him. “Your lack of respect for your warchief has been noted. I have better things to do than listen to your petty disloyalties.”

“Fehh!” The orc spat as Nathanos turned his back. “It's not the Warchief that has my disrespect,” he rumbled.

Outside, the young troll with whom Nathanos had left his exhausted kodo was now holding the reins of one which was obviously fresh. He handed them over to Nathanos.

“This is not the kodo I arrived on,” Nathanos said sharply. He did a thorough inspection of the beast. He'd found burrs under the saddle before. And once he been given a poisoned kodo who had gone down while trying to cross the overlapping stones that spanned the hidden waters of Thunder Ridge. It had taken him nearly an hour to extract himself from the deep pool into which he had fallen. The Forsaken didn't drown, but their lack of body fat made them poor swimmers.

Nothing appeared amiss.

The troll was trying to hide his crestfallen look. “Sorry if I displeased ya, sir.”

“What's your name?”

The troll snapped into a crisp salute. “Guardsman Gar’nak of de Scorpions.”

Nathanos gave him a nod and pulled himself up onto the kodo. “You showed initiative, Gar’nak. I'll see that your commander is informed.”

“Thank ya, sir,” the troll said uncertainly.

 _He's wondering if I meant that sarcastically_. Nathanos gave him a dry smile as he wheeled his kodo about and kicked it into a lope. Scorpions. The commander would be Mak’Zul, then. Tuk’kar, one of the men stationed in Nathanos’ personal barracks, was a Scorpion. Nathanos made a mental note to have the commendation delivered in person by Tuk’kar. It had probably been a long time since he'd seen his home.

Such small rewards, crafted to seem thoughtful and personal, were the way to build loyalty in those who serve, Nathanos reflected. If only he could impress that truth on Sylvanas, who went out of her way to punish loyalty as often as she rewarded it.

She had already alienated Saurfang and Baine. Nathanos...had nothing in his life to command his loyalty other than Sylvanas and she knew it. Him, she took for granted more than all the rest.

He guided the kodo into a large area of shade cast by one of the towering hills that thrust out from the flat, dusty plains. In the distance, he could see human soldiers mounted on horses pouring out of the gates of Orgrimmar in perfect formation.

Another of Sylvanas’ games, that the human king arriving on their shores should be met and escorted by ranks of human slaves who served the Horde. Nathanos wondered if the king would assume it was a courtesy to make him feel at ease, or if he would realize that she meant it as an insult. Probably the latter, but he would pretend otherwise. He was better at fielding her pettiness than she probably realized.

Many of the men in those legions heading to the docks were men who Nathanos had personally broken, on Sylvanas’ orders. Prisoners of war. Common soldiers, used and abandoned to their fate, now being put to use again by their enemies. He wondered what they would be feeling as they escorted their former king through the streets of their captors’ capital.

It had never occurred to him before what a cruel situation they were being put in. _How inexplicable_ , Nathanos thought, _that this should trouble me_. Little as he cared for the orc, Nathanos had to admit that Saurfang was right to rail at what the Horde was becoming. _A show of strength would have been appropriate for the occasion, but petty insults should have been beneath us._

 _Us_. The word still felt foreign to him when speaking of the Horde.

When he reached the beach, there was no sign of Shaw or Yurig, but it took no skill as a tracker to follow the trail of their passage. He found them in the shelter of a sea cave overlooking the ocean. Yurig leaned comfortably against the sand-worn stone, reading.

Shaw sat cross-legged, watching the sea with a pensive expression. His head turned slowly, almost reluctantly, watching Nathanos as he approached. “If you want my eyes on the Alliance party as they disembark then we'll have to hurry.”

“That won't be necessary.”

A look of relief flickered across Shaw's face, but was quickly replaced by one of irritation. “Your misplaced attempt at kindness isn't doing us any favors,” he snapped.

Nathanos hid a smile. It was good to see Shaw's sharp edges returning. They would need every advantage if Nathanos’ plan were to succeed.

“The more I know, the better we can plan. At this point we don't know how much they know. I'm not sure if the element of surprise will work in our favor or not,” Shaw muttered.

“Tell me about Jaina Proudmoore. How does she react to the unexpected?”

“Rather explosively, in my experience.” Shaw's lips twisted wryly. “She's at her best when she has time to plan. Her emotions can be... volcanic.”

“Do we want her at her best? Will she be a willing ally?”

“Hell. I have no idea, Blightcaller. What you're planning...it's insane. So twisted it just might work. But...still insane.”

He'd been forced to reveal to Shaw more of his plans then he would have liked. Shaw's ability to ferret out details was formidable. But there were certain key details left firmly unmentioned. Nathanos was quite certain Shaw would not have approved of them. “Will she trust you?”

Shaw swallowed. The ship was close enough that Nathanos could see more details. Three masts, dozens of cannon discretely tucked away behind their little wooden doors. As he watched, the blue and gold colors of the Alliance were snapped out on display, discarding the illusion of anonymity. The human king was far more cautious than Sylvanas in their little games of one-upsmanship. “It would depend on what she's heard. If I could approach her alone, make her think my presence is part of a deep-cover operation…”

“Too risky.” One misstep and the mage would portal Shaw out, back to Stormwind. _Would that be such a bad thing_? Nathanos forced himself to examine the possibility. A few months ago, he had been prepared to take that very action himself.

But things had changed between him and Shaw, and Nathanos was forced to admit that he had foolishly allowed hope to creep into his plans, hope that he had found one who might someday become a trusted ally. They had far to go. But it was more than he had even imagined he would have with Shaw.

“She won't be open to anything that she suspects came from you,” Shaw said bluntly. “We'll have to convince her that you're working for me.” His look was openly challenging. “Think you can manage that, Blightcaller?” He seemed tremendously pleased by the notion.

“Acting is not an ability that I possess to any great measure.”

Shaw snorted. “Let me do all the talking, then. All you have to do is nod at appropriate moments and resist the urge to argue with me.”

“A task more difficult than it would seem at first consideration.”

“You know, when I first met you I never would have suspected you of being droll, Blightcaller.” Shaw pulled on his Shroud, once more concealing himself beneath the tattered layers of his disguise. Yurig slid down the sloping embankment to the beach to chase down their kodos, who had been ranging back and forth on the sand, foraging for seaweed and bivalves. “You are a man of hidden depths.”

“Some depths are best left hidden.” Shaw was in a fey mood. The stress of what was coming was undoubtedly the source. They mounted their kodos.

“Eyes on the horizon,” Shaw muttered to himself.

* * *

The boy-king of Stormwind disembarked from his ship with a maximum of pomp and ceremony half an hour after berthing. Idly, Nathanos wondered if all that time had been spent on grooming. Shaw had assured him that Anduin wasn't vain, but as he moved through the ranks of assembled men, surrounded by both Horde and Alliance soldiers, he looked every inch the shining, golden treasure.

The polished lion heads on his armor gleamed so brightly they almost seemed to radiate light. Or perhaps that was just the reflected glow from the inner Light that radiated from the man. It was so intense that at times, Nathanos could almost swear he was sensing it directly, whispering promises of warmth and safety. It made him uncomfortable, Nathanos admitted, probably for much the same reason that Yurig made the Horde warriors uncomfortable.

It was all fanciful nonsense, of course. The Light, if it existed beyond the simple presence of an energy source, would have nothing to do with a creature like himself. When he had first been raised by the Scourge, he’d had no choice. It is possible that if that had been the end of his story, he might have eventually gone on to rest in the Light. His former incarnation had been impossibly virtuous. But when he had allowed Sylvanas to resurrect him and then transfer his life essence into the body of another man, he had put himself beyond the reach of such things.

As the procession approached, Nathanos became aware that Anduin's eyes were upon him. At such a distance it should have been difficult to tell, but Nathanos was certain of it. Just as he was certain of the moment when the human’s eyes left him, to take in Yurig standing at his side, arms folded and a look of mild amusement evident.

Of Shaw there was no sign. That was good. He would be slipping through the crowd, observing and cataloging, drawing conclusions that Nathanos occasionally found alarmingly acute. The spymaster’s mind had not been savaged by his ordeal, only his spirit.

The king and his escort moved past Nathanos’ vantage point, through the throngs of orcs and trolls and goblins and tauren who gawked curiously, some scowling, others grinning as if the sight was a treat which brightened their dull lives.

Which it probably did. Nathanos sniffed. That was the whole point of royalty, after all.

“Very pretty,” Yurig rumbled as the dust of the procession’s passage settled and the onlookers began to disperse. “It is the first time I have seen the human king up close. It is surprising that he can walk under all that armor. Can he actually fight in it?”

Nathanos snorted. “Compared to a real warrior, no. But for a priest of his soft religion, he's very effective at dealing death.”

“Such a thing must give him pain,” Yurig remarked with a pensive air. “He would be an interesting person to talk to, I think. Or bathe. He looks like his skin would be very soft,” he said wistfully. “He is well groomed.”

It had been far too long since they had been home, Nathanos thought. Yurig would be missing it. He cursed Sylvanas and her twisted desires.

“If they catch him, we will lose him.”

It took Nathanos a moment to pull himself back from fond thoughts of candlelit bathing and focus on puzzling out Yurig’s remark. “Shaw? He won't be caught unless he chooses to be.”

“And if he chooses?”

“Then he will have broken our agreement.”

“You do not intend to let him go, then.”

“No.” It was a deceptive answer, but Nathanos wasn't in the mood to expound on the truth, which was a great deal more complicated. He had never shared the details of his bargain with Yurig, nor the fact that he had almost sent Shaw back to Stormwind.

Yurig’s ears sagged. “We should go back to the inn.” He stretched out his three-fingered hand to brush dust from Nathanos’ hair. “There will be ceremonies tonight. You will not wish to attend them disheveled, my lord.”

He should not be allowing Yurig to take such liberties in public, Nathanos thought. But he didn't have the energy to form a reprimand. Or the will. Right now, there was nothing he wanted more than a hot bath and Yurig’s gentle hands, slick with oil.

Until Sylvanas got what she wanted, what she needed, there was no safety for Shaw. “You're right,” he told Yurig. “We should go.” The meeting of state tonight would be critical. Even though Jaina Proudmoore had not been part of the disembarking procession, Shaw had spotted her on board the ship as it approached. She would be there to keep an eye on her nephew tonight, Nathanos felt certain. It was unlikely that the mage would ever see him as an ally, but if he could convince her that he was Shaw's ally…no, best to pose as a reluctant resource.

It would make things more difficult that he could not approach her directly. Shaw would need to take the lead.

Tonight would set the stage for the next few days and, thus, for the success of Nathanos’ plans. As yet he had no definite blueprint for discretely luring Proudmoore away from the Alliance party. Nathanos firmly hoped that would change after he had a chance to confer with Shaw upon his return.

* * *

At least the food was good, Nathanos thought. The social event in the embassy building was being served by Night and Day, a catering company run by goblins and Forsaken. That particular mix of races wasn't all that unusual in Orgrimmar; Forsaken and goblins got along surprisingly well. Perhaps it was because both races were painfully aware of their outsider status, and conscious of all they had lost. The goblin homeland was destroyed, burnt to a molten wasteland by Deathwing. And the Forsaken had all lost homelands. Some, like Nathanos, had lost their lives so long ago they felt like no more than a distant memory, a dull ache they had grown used to. For others, the loss was a still-bleeding wound.

Sylvanas and Nathanos had both shared a rare moment of agreement in choosing Night and Day for the event. It was one of the few catering establishments which allowed the Forsaken to serve food openly. This made it perfect for Nathanos’ purposes; Shaw could freely circulate, listening in and snooping about and doing all the things that a good spymaster did. Sylvanas merely took a great deal of bitter pleasure in seeing the uneasy looks on the faces of the others as they saw their food being handled by the undead.

Amused, Nathanos watched the hoard of diminutive green men and women who danced among the dignitaries, twirling their trays and keeping up a non-stop torrent of one-liners and entertaining anecdotes. Interspersed with them were the solemn, anonymous Forsaken dressed in full body Shrouds and serving in silent dignity.

He didn't know which one was Shaw; in fact, he had taken pains to not even speculate or pay them too much attention. Nathanos suspected that he would be able to identify the spymaster by the cadence of his steps, the tilt of his head. And if that failed, he could be identified as the one who served everyone but the orcs. It was an aversion that Shaw managed these days, but not comfortably.

Baine was still noticeably absent. Nathanos had heard that the clan feud was finally settled, but the tauren hadn't shown his face in Orgrimmar yet. At least not anywhere that Nathanos frequented.

King Anduin was holding court in the center of the room, surrounded by chieftains who seemed quite amused by whatever the human had just said. Nathanos wouldn't have been surprised to see a couple of the older ones expire on the spot from an excess of mirth. Saurfang did not look amused. From their expressions, Nathanos suspected that many of the orcs were laughing at Anduin and not with him. Most of the tauren looked vaguely confused or embarrassed.

Thus far, Anduin and Sylvanas had done no more than exchange polite nods. Nathanos credited that to Jaina Proudmoore, who had not gone further than five paces from Anduin all evening. She and Sylvanas were carefully avoiding even the briefest of eye contact, a thing that Nathanos found most... telling.

He had known that Sylvanas was obsessed with Jaina, but he had not previously realized that the mage was similarly affected. Though it was impossible to tell what emotions gripped Jaina regarding the Banshee Queen.

There was a slight tug on his clothing as one of the Forsaken waiters drifted by. Nathanos slipped his hand into his cloak pocket and drew out a piece of paper with a single phrase on it; “meet downstairs?”

Nathanos waited for a moment, noting which exit Shaw had taken. The one closest to the stairs down; he was probably heading for one of the embassy’s private rooms. As he descended the steps, he wondered if Shaw had obtained some important piece of information, or if the meeting were a wordless appeal for the night to end. Being forced to spy on his former colleagues would have put an undeniable strain on Shaw’s emotional strength.

Shaw was waiting for him at the end of a long row of doors. Magelight softly lit the hallway, and Nathanos’ bootsteps echoed in the silence. At the end of the hall, Nathanos followed him into a room and closed the door behind them. The human’s boots scuffed as he turned to face Nathanos. It was a thing that sent a vague feeling of uneasiness through Nathanos; under normal conditions Shaw was never heard unless he chose to be.

The man turned to face Nathanos and stood with his head cocked slightly. He seemed to be waiting for something.

“Well?” Nathanos demanded. “Report.”

“My lord,” said the man. “I hope that you will forgive me for my temerity in asking for your help. I find myself with few options, these days.”

Definitely not Shaw's voice. Deeper in timbre, and with a distinct Kul Tiran accent. The man parted the folds of his hood.

It was Derek Proudmoore.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek Proudmore has come to Nathanos for help. Nathanos wonders whether he should take the situation at face value, but is not one to eschew an opportunity.

Nathanos had never met Derek Proudmoore, heir to the merchant Kingdom of Kul Tiras, before his incineration during the second war. By all accounts he had been a typical Kul Tiran; heavy framed and thickly muscled, a weathered, hard-drinking man of the sea.

The man who stood before him seemed shrunken despite his height. Probably once standing tall and proud, Derek was now hunched, hiding the broadness of his shoulders and making him look infirm. He was unusual in that he, like Nathanos, displayed a full set of facial hair.

Nathanos remembered the burnt and water damaged corpse that had surfaced in Zuldazar. Recognizable only by his devices and the ring on his bony finger, Derek had been a fairly ugly corpse when first raised. Sylvanas had force fed him human flesh, telling him after the fact that it had been cut from the still-living body of a captured Kul Tiran sailor.

It was partly a lie, of course; the sailor had been several days dead, but Sylvanas had been determined to break the man as quickly as possible. And it was true that eating the flesh of the still-living was the most efficient way to restore a Forsaken body to the appearance of near life.

Baine had demanded that Nathanos join him in his furious protests over Sylvanas’ treatment of Derek, but Nathanos knew that Sylvanas could not be swayed in any of her decisions regarding the Proudmoores.

If Baine had disliked Nathanos before the raising of Derek, that dislike had turned to contempt afterwards.

“Derek Proudmoore. Your presence is...unexpected.”

“I...I accompanied my sister. The Lord Admiral.”

There was no inflection in the man's voice, but Nathanos imagined it must gall him. How could it not? He had been heir apparent to the Admiralty all his life, and now he was...less than nothing. Dragged behind in his sister's wake. More a shadow than a man. “I see.” Nathanos felt curiosity rise in him. What was it that Derek sought from him? Jaina had taken a terrible chance bringing her brother back to Orgrimmar like this. Sylvanas still considered him stolen property. “Why are you here?”

Derek looked confused. “I...I told you. Jaina brought me.”

“No. I meant why are you here?” At Derek's panicked look, Nathanos continued “Why are you here, in this room? What did you wish to speak of?” Nathanos was fairly certain that Derek had been possessed of a far more capable intellect than this when he had first been restored. As he recalled, the Kul Tiran had a cutting wit, and had been more than a match for Sylvanas until her torments had begun to wear away at him.

“Oh...of course.” Derek cast his eyes downward. “I am aware that I didn’t have any claim to your assistance. I never got the chance to thank you.”

“I cannot think of what you might imagine you have to thank me for,” Nathanos told him uncomfortably. “I did nothing to help you.” _And, unlike with Shaw, I knew exactly what she was doing._

“You tried to help me. I overheard you talking to Sylvanas. I know that she was angry with you for... for disagreeing with her.”

“It is not an infrequent occurrence.”

“Of course. I didn't intend to imply that I was of any particular importance. Just...thank you.” The Kul Tiran shifted uncomfortably, eyes still downcast.

It occurred to Nathanos that he had been handed the perfect opportunity to gain another hook into the Proudmoore family. If he could manage to engage the brother, Jaina might well be within his grasp. “How have you adjusted to your new life? Have the Kul Tiran humans been treating you well?” _You are no longer human, Derek Proudmoore. However strongly you may cling to that illusion..._

Only Derek’s face was visible. Nathanos stretched out his hand, waiting to see if the Kul Tiran would flinch back. When he did not, Nathanos peeled back the hood which covered Proudmoore's head. “Ah. I understand.” The Forsaken’s flesh had the ashy gray cast of starvation. His cheeks were sunken to the point that his head seemed little more than a flesh wrapped skull, and Nathanos was quite certain that the rest of Derek's body would be equally as degraded. “They are not allowing you to feed properly.”

“I would never do such a thing!” Derek's eyes were wide width horror.

“Our nourishment needn't come from the living,” Nathanos carefully kept impatience from his voice. “Any human flesh will do, even decaying flesh from long rotten corpses. Of course, consuming long dead flesh is an experience most of us avoid.”

Derek's milky eyes focused on Nathanos. “I won't eat human flesh.” His chin jutted out with a stubbornness that transformed his hangdog appearance to one with greater strength. This man had once had the potential to be a great leader and a worthy opponent.

“Then your body will continue to rot. Eventually your structure will no longer be able to support itself and you will be merely a self-aware lump of organic matter,” Nathanos informed him tonelessly. “It is not a pleasant thing to contemplate.”

“Jaina has promised that my body will be burned before I am allowed to reach that state.”

“Her compassion is unexpected. Not many sisters would be willing to entertain the notion of burning their brother alive.”

“It's what I wanted,” Derek snapped. “Jaina is not to be blamed.”

Interesting. So the cringing seadog still knows how to bite. Nathanos studied Derek. _Is he dissembling? If so, why_? Nathanos waited to see if Derek would apologize for his outbursts; that would tell him much about the man’s true intent. Genuine anger should not require an apology. Not for a man of Proudmoore's temperament.

“I have said all that I came to say.” Derek pulled his hood back over his head.

Nathanos considered the possible consequences, and made a decision. “There are...alternatives. Not well known. In fact, one which I developed on my own. Known only to myself and few others with whom I have chosen to share it.” If he could lure Derek to Stonecliff…Nathanos tried to suppress his rising eagerness, waiting to see if Derek would take the next step of his own volition.

“Alternatives?” Derek’s voice was suspicious, but Nathanos could detect the underlying note of desperation. “What sort of alternatives? I won’t kill anyone to preserve my own existence.”

Nathanos sniffed. “Very ethical, I’m sure.” He made his voice sound amused. “I would agree that killing the living to save the dead could be considered a waste of resources. My methods leave the source very much alive, I can assure you.”

“And inclined to continue participating in your…method?” Derek challenged. "Willingly?"

“If you like,” Nathanos told him indifferently. “It is not necessary, and it can degrade the quality of the experience, but it can be accomplished.”

“Then…I beg you…tell me how it might be done.”

Nathanos cocked his head at Derek, regarding him for a moment.

“I know what you want,” Derek said stiffly.

“Do you.” It was a statement of skepticism, not a question.

“I've heard a little about you, Lord Blightcaller. You do not often step forward into the light. But you do like to be informed. If you teach me how to preserve myself without causing harm to others, I will…” Derek hesitated for a moment “...be eyes and ears in Kul Tiras for you. I won't give you any information that would harm my family. And I will not lie to Jaina. But short of that…”

“A tempting offer,” Nathanos told him, though it really wasn't. He doubted he would receive any useful information from the man. Nathanos paused for a long moment, as if considering the offer, but in truth his decision had already been made. “I accept. It is not a thing that can be learned in a single session. How long before you will be returning to Kul Tiras?”

“How long will I need?”

“It depends on how apt a pupil you are.” _And how long it takes your sister to become involved_. “As soon as I am released from my obligations regarding your king’s visit…”

“He’s not my king,” Derek said sharply. “I owe no allegiance to anyone but my sister.”

“Of course.” Nathanos let a small trickle of doubt creep into the words. “In any case...you are welcome to accompany me back to my home. All the necessary supplies will be there.”

“And this is something I'll be able to do by myself? Without harming anyone?”

“I will say no more on the subject. You are welcome to accompany us to Stonecliff, or not.” Nathanos gave a careless shrug. “If that is all?”

“Oh. I almost forgot. I was given a message to deliver to you.” Derek pulled an envelope from inside his shroud.

Nathanos accepted it and slid it into an inner pocket.

Derek cleared his throat. “I was instructed to wait for a reply.”

“You seem an unusual choice for a messenger.” Nathanos retrieve the envelope and cautiously slit the flap open with his thumb.

“I volunteered. It gave me an excuse to speak with you without anyone asking questions.”

“Anyone...being your sister?” Nathanos pulled out a creamy sheet of paper, obviously expensive stock, scented with the faintest hint of beeswax. He unfolded it.

The hand was neatly formed, with compact, precise letters written with a well-trimmed quill. The handwriting was vaguely familiar.

_“Lord Blightcaller,_

_I request a private conversation at your convenience. Please select a time and place, and convey them to my messenger.”_

It was oddly polite. Nathanos wondered if it had been Jaina’s idea, or if she had reluctantly been prevailed upon by her brother. “If I decline, should I anticipate an angry visit from the Lord Admiral in my future?” The temptation to turn her down just for spite was, unfortunately, not a pleasure he could allow himself.

“I shouldn't think so, Lord Blightcaller,” Derek said lightly. Then he frowned. “Wait…surely you're not serious?”

“The question was intended to be a serious one.” Nathanos tapped the message with a finger. “The tone of her letter doesn't exactly convey warm sentiments. I assume she knows the nature of your business with me?” He wondered if Jaina’s purpose was to advance her brother’s cause, or to dissuade Nathanos from interacting with Derek.

Derek looked confused. “Jaina sent you a letter?” It was obvious that his ability to reason was deteriorating. Not, surprising, given that he probably hadn't fed on anything other than animal flesh since he was returned to Jaina three years ago. The Forsaken could consume animal flesh to keep up their energy but without human flesh the process of decay continued at an accelerated rate.

“Yes. You just delivered it to me.” Nathanos wondered that Jaina had allowed Derek to leave her side. Surely she must be aware of his condition. Nathanos hadn’t planned on confronting Jaina quite yet, but better that than leaving her brother to wander about. There was no telling where he might end up.

“Oh. Oh, I see. No...the letter is from King Anduin.” Derek frowned. “Did I forget to tell you that part?” His head drooped, and he continued bleakly, “It has been getting worse. Sometimes I can scarcely remember who I am.”

“This is the unavoidable consequence of your choices. If you like, I can escort you to one of the city's eating establishments which caters to the Forsaken. A good meal will do much to restore you.”

Goblin owned, of course. Since the city had filled up with goblins, eating out opportunities for the Forsaken had increased tenfold. Goblins had supply chains. And business partners in nearly every city in Kalimdor. Not to mention their contacts with overseas brethren, who had far better access to hard-to-get food items. Those items included human flesh, discreetly referred to as Pho Pig, which was now available in most Forsaken friendly inns and markets. Nathanos entertained a brief thought of an outbreak of goblins swarming the humans’ graveyards. Fighting with the human physicians for the corpses dug up. Or, more likely, knowing goblins, offering their services as undertakers and corpse disposal specialists. Getting paid twice for each corpse. Nathanos’ lips twitched. He found goblins quite amusing.

“No,” said Derrick. “But I thank you for the offer.” Withered lids blinked over his milky eyes. “What answer may I carry back to the king?”

“I haven't decided,” Nathanos told him. “Find me later this evening. We can continue our discussion, after I have had time to consider the situation, and I will give you my answer.”

Derek was still for a moment, then gave a brief nod. Nathanos couldn’t read his expression. “I will find you later.”

After his obligation to mingle had been discharged, Nathanos would be free to engage Derek in further conversation. It was a windfall, and one which Nathanos intended to grasp with both hands. Pursuing the lord admiral had never been a welcome strategy, but Nathanos felt certain that wherever her brother went, Jaina was sure to follow.

* * *

As Nathanos approached the staircase leading to the upper levels of the embassy, his body was suddenly slammed into the wall.

“Where the hell were you?!” Shaw hissed. “You disappeared. Yurig was nowhere to be seen. And then a company of damned orcs came filing in and started questioning the caterers…”

Nathanos could feel Shaw's arms twitching and the too-high unsteadiness of his voice. He reached behind himself to turn the doorknob pressing into his back, and yanked Shaw inside the room, slamming the door shut and plunging the room into silent darkness.

He moved in closer, pressing against Shaw's body until the man was trapped firmly against the wall. He could feel the frantic beat of Shaw’s heart against his chest.

Gradually, Shaw's heartbeat slowed and his trembling limbs relaxed. His head fell forward against Nathanos' shoulder. “I hate that I let you do this for me, Blightcaller.” His voice was barely audible.

“I know, Shaw.” Nathanos combed his fingers through Shaw's hair, then his hand slid down. His thumb rubbed slow circles over the base of Shaw’s neck.

After a time, the spymaster took a shuddering breath and straightened.

Reluctantly, Nathanos released his hold on Shaw and stepped back. “Just a message, delivered from an unexpected source by a most unexpected messenger.” He quickly gave Shaw the details of his conversation with Derek Proudmoore.

“Interesting.” Shaw’s voice had returned to its customary crispness. “Describe to me what he was wearing, any identifying marks, and I'll keep an eye on him.”

“Light olive shroud. There's a stain on the left side of his lower back. Looks like a wine spill.”

“Mmm.” There was a moment of silence. “You're really planning on teaching him that thing that you do?”

Shaw had learned to tolerate Nathanos’ occasional taking of his energies, but the experience still frightened him. Which was just as well, given the requirements of the ritual. “If he agrees, then yes.”

“Don't make me any part of that,” Shaw’s voice was rough, as if his throat had closed up. “Please,” he added.

“No,” said Nathanos. “Completely aside from the fact that I have no intention of sharing you…”

He heard a small release of breath from Shaw.

“...Yurig would be a much better choice. Proudmoore is determined to cling to his outdated ethics.”

“Outdated?”

“Unsuited to his current state. The mores of humanity do not suit the Forsaken.”

“That sounds like something Sylvanas would say,” Shaw said quietly.

“We do not disagree on everything,” Nathanos told him.

Shaw drew in a long breath and let it out. “I should get back to my skulking.”

“I'll go up first. If the orcs are looking for you, it might be best if we had some warning.”

Dropping his head, Shaw gave a jerky nod.

Nathanos stepped in close and cupped Shaw's face. “She did that on purpose, Shaw. Trying to make you see all orcs as your enemies. She wanted to make certain you wouldn't go to Saurfang for help.”

Nathanos could feel Shaw's frown, but the man didn't pull away. “Why would she think Saurfang would help me?”

“She knows he wouldn’t have approved of what she did to you. And also because she suspects he has something of a reason to be sympathetic to the Alliance. And specifically, to you.”

The spymaster’s head tilted back and Nathanos heard a quick intake of breath. “Ah,” Shaw said. Then “She knows?”

“Knows what?”

There was a barely noticeable pause and then Shaw answered. “The king arranged for Saurfang’s escape from the stockade. He had me run interference for him, secretly, as he traveled across the countryside.”

That made the question of what had passed between the high overlord and the king all the more interesting. “She hasn’t mentioned it in my presence, but I’m not surprised at what you’ve told me. His change of heart in that direction has been rather noticeable.”

“Just one more thing to worry about,” Shaw muttered. “Like I really needed it. I’ll meet you back at our quarters tonight.”

* * *

By the time that Nathanos made it back upstairs, the orcs were being cleared out by their Commander. It turned out that they were heroes of several battles which had taken place in Stranglethorn and as a reward, Saurfang was feeding them hors d‘oeuvres and parading them past the Alliance party.

It was odd, but the human king seemed to be avoiding him, Nathanos thought. Not overtly; he didn’t avoid eye contact or pointedly go out of his way to leave Nathanos’ vicinity, but considering the fact that he’d made a point of conversing with nearly everyone else...

Subterfuge of any sort intrigued Nathanos. He was tempted to pursue a conversation with Anduin, just to see what reaction it would induce, but instinct told him he was better off holding back. He would be speaking with the king tomorrow. This was the second time tonight that his quarry was coming to him, and that was the best possible position to be in.

In all likelihood, he and Sylvanas were the only two people of note the talkative human had not engaged in extended conversation with that night. Sylvanas had been excluded because she was avoiding Jaina Proudmoore, who had remained tightly glued to her nephew's side all evening.

Saurfang drifted in and out of the king’s orbit, seemingly at random, but the orc’s eyes often strayed to the king when he thought no one was observing.

And just as frequently, Anduin's gaze seem to be wandering across the room in Saurfang's general direction. Even more telling was the way that, when their gazes happened to collide, both of them hastily found something else of interest.

It was a subtle interaction, and Nathanos probably wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been looking for it. He wondered if they knew how indiscreet they were being. Saurfang certainly did; after Nathanos had caught him out several times, Saurfang entirely abandoned any contact with the human and, instead, joined a group of orc and troll chieftains telling war stories to a mixed-race crowd of soldiers.

Nathanos smiled. So, the king wanted to meet with him. A private audience. No doubt to question him on the subject of his missing spymaster. It shouldn't be difficult to divert the conversation into subjects that would quickly have the young human beating a hasty retreat. His fascination with the high overlord was, no doubt, meant to be a secret.

All things taken into consideration, it had been a splendid evening.

* * *

Nathanos’ enjoyment of the evening was short-lived. The event was drawing to a close. Sylvanas had disappeared, which was the unspoken signal that everyone who wasn't actually enjoying themselves at the social event could escape it as well.

“Lord Blightcaller?”

He turned around, expecting to see Derek Proudmoore, but the Forsaken who faced him was not wearing a shroud. One of the well preserved ones, his skin unblemished and his features filled out. The man bowed, then handed Nathanos a feather.

A black feather. Irritation coursed through Nathanos. Sylvanas would expect him to drop everything that he was doing and rush off to meet her in the bank vault. He wouldn't be able to spend time with Derek Proudmoore, at least not tonight. He was tempted to ignore the summons and claim it was in the service of Sylvanas’ plan, but the Forsaken queen’s temper was seldom guided by reason these days.

He waited impatiently for Proudmoore to approach; fortunately, the man was reasonably prompt.

“You were going to give me your answer, my Lord?”

“Tell him I will meet with him in the Hall of Legends tomorrow morning.” The Hall of Legends was practically next door to the embassy, and would not raise any alarms with the king’s advisors. Assuming the king planned on consulting them, which was not a given from what Nathanos had heard.

“At what time?”

Nathanos guessed that the king would not be an early riser. “Nine bells. Tell him to come alone, and I will do the same. I will guarantee his safety. The conversation will be for our ears only.”

Derek nodded, and turned to leave.

“I had planned to offer to show you something of the city tonight,” Nathanos said casually. “Unfortunately, something has come up. Might I suggest that we meet tomorrow evening at six bells? We can have a walk and an early dinner and then return to my lodgings.” He had been given the use of a two-bedroom loft apartment above a tavern in the Drag for the duration of the king’s visit. “I can arrange for you to observe firsthand the details of the process that you wish to learn, and you can decide if you've the stomach for it.”

Derek froze, his face tense with apprehension. “You are too generous, Lord Blightcaller. But...my sister has told me that I would not be safe on the streets of Orgrimmar.”

So, Jaina was aware of the danger Sylvanas posed. And she had still chosen to bring her brother to Orgrimmar. Why? “You will be under my protection,” Nathanos told him. “I will come to fetch you from the embassy at six, and I will return you the next morning at nine. You have my personal word of honor that you will be safe.”

Even if Sylvanas found out about Derek's presence in the city, she would not demand that Nathanos hand the Kul Tiran over to her. There were few things that Nathanos would outright refuse to do for her, but breaking his honor was one of them. They had already established that boundary long ago. It had not been an experience that either of them was eager to repeat.

“Can I...think about it?”

Nathanos arranged his features into a look of mild surprise. “Of course. If you aren't comfortable with the idea…” he let his voice trail off. “If I do not hear from you before, say, four bells, I'll make other plans. Now...if you’ll excuse me…”

 _A seed has been planted_ , Nathanos mused as he exited the embassy. _We shall see what grows_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfway through the story...I find myself curious as to how people are feeling about it. I know there was a lot of tension regarding Shaw's state of mind, but their relationship has changed fairly dramatically in the last couple of chapters. Is it a welcome change? Did it come too early or too late? I'd love to know how you, my readers, feel about that.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anduin Wrynn and Jaina Proudmoore have come to Orgrimmar. Nathanos hasn't been able to figure out if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

When the goblins got involved with the banking trade in Orgrimmar, the two established banks, run by orcs, simply could not compete. At first, the orcs sought to even the competition by breaking the legs of one of the bank owners and killing the other. But the goblins retaliated by undercutting loans and hiring protection, and eventually the orcish banks simply died with a whimper and a growl.

One of those deceased banks, formerly known as The Burning Sands Bank, was located in a nice area of the Valley of Strength, just below the ledge on the upper levels which was used as a launching perch by windriders.

Sylvanas had taken over the building many years ago. There was a solid vault on the lower level, which she had converted into an interrogation room. The soundproofing was unparalleled. Sending Nathanos a black feather was her way of telling him that his presence was required there.

He entered the front doors and was surprised to see Sylvanas waiting for him.

“A spy has been caught near Razor Hill. He was sent to me last night. I require your services.”

“As my lady wishes,” Nathanos replied automatically, pushing down a surge of irritation. Sylvanas hardly required his services to torture someone. She was perfectly capable of performing that function herself.

As he followed her silently down the stairs, he wondered what Sylvanas would say if he told her he had better things to do with his time then sharing her sadistic games.

He didn't tell her. But part of him wished he had that option.

* * *

_Please_ … The goblin's lips silently formed the word. His throat was no longer capable of producing words, only a dry rasping sound that reminded Nathanos of the small furred creatures that dug holes in Durotar’s plains.

He gently probed the spy’s throat, just below the juncture of jaw and neck, then drew his scalpel across, cleanly parting skin and flesh, watching the scarlet torrent spill down over the dying man's chest.

“You're growing soft,” Sylvanas remarked mockingly. “You used to be able to make them last much longer.”

“There was nothing more to be learned from him.” It was one of the many skills Nathanos had acquired over the years, the instinct which told him when a man had given all that he could give, and there was nothing more to be gained from his torment.

“That never used to matter to you.” Sylvanas’ lips curled.

He let his silence acknowledge the truth of her words. It wasn't that he had grown soft, he told himself as he closed the goblin's eyes, merely that his priorities had changed. “If there is anything more my lady requires of me tonight?” he inquired politely.

“Off to take another bath?” She stared at the blood staining his hands and clothing mockingly. “Do you take care to wash it off before you use your little pet? Afraid that he will ask questions that it would pain you to answer?”

It took all his skill, from long years of practice, to deny Sylvanas the satisfaction of knowing how closely she had sliced to the bone with her probing remark. The man he had just tortured to death had been an Alliance spy. Izmal Niftglass. Son of a tanner and a glassblower, both killed by Deathwing. A man who Shaw had probably known. Perhaps even trained personally.

“Shaw has always known what I am.”

“And forgiven you for it?” Sylvanas mocked.

Nathanos frowned. “Forgiveness?” The look he gave her was genuinely puzzled. It was not a word he usually heard on her lips. “Of what use would such a sentiment be?”

Forgiveness was pointless, when it would only be shattered by the next transgression. And he was not permitted to regret, or to change.

It was Sylvanas’ turn to frown. She gave a careless sniff which was too loud to be genuine. “Forget I asked. Yes. Go let your little pet wash away the stains of your transgressions.” For just a moment, something in her face grew pensive, and he was reminded of the woman he had once known. Then her face hardened. “Clean this up.”

* * *

When he arrived at his apartment, Yurig and Shaw had already fallen asleep on the room’s single bed. Shaw’s face was buried in the tauren’s armpit and Yurig’s heavy, furred arm was wrapped protectively around the human.

The bathwater, scented with lavender and honey, had cooled. Blightcaller quietly stripped and soaked, then rinsed his bloody clothing. He dried his body and stood for a moment, gazing down at the bed. He had been looking forward to spending the night wrapped up in their warmth, but his body was cold. Yurig wouldn’t mind; his fur insulated him well enough, but Shaw’s naked skin would shudder away from the contact. He’d force himself to endure it, of course, but Nathanos found less pleasure in the face of Shaw’s discomfort than he once had.

Shaw gave a groan and shifted position slightly, but not enough to escape the cage of Yurig’s arm. Nathanos stared down at the scene, imagining Yurig’s arms empty. The thought of it was a vice that crushed his heart. _I will protect him. I will find a way. No matter what I must do, no matter what it costs._

Nathanos seated himself in a chair beside the window, and watched them sleep

* * *

In the round chamber of the Hall of Legends, King Anduin Wrynn stood before Nathanos, his sweet, earnest face in contrast to the massive bulk of his armor and the huge sword dangling from his hip. The human king had arrived promptly at nine with an escort of a dozen men, whom he sent away before entering the hall.

“Lord Blightcaller...” Anduin began.

“You were instructed to come alone.” _How much does he know?_ Nathanos wondered. They had managed to keep Shaw's identity hidden from the king's hound, but although Baine had been in Mulgore all this time, there was no guarantee that he would not have found time to send a letter to Stormwind.

“I forbade it,” Saurfang growled. The huge orc bristled, stepping up close, and glared down at Nathanos with an expression that obviously promised retribution if the king was endangered in any way.

“I gave my word that he would not be harmed,” Nathanos pointed out.

“Your definition of harm and mine do not look at all alike.”

“Please. Lord Saurfang. While I appreciate your efforts to keep me safe, I can assure you that I am not a helpless babe, to be stepped in front of or talked over.” Though Anduin's words were soft, his delivery had a hint of steel in it.

Nathanos expected Saurfang to growl at the human’s rebuke, or at the very least grit his teeth, but instead, the orc’s expression relaxed somewhat, softening when his eyes fell across the young king. His gaze snapped back, captured Nathanos’. “Do we understand each other here, Blightcaller?” There was an armed stillness about him, a readiness. _He would attack me, here, now, without hesitation, if he thought I meant the boy harm_ , Nathanos realized.

He cares for the human.

Nathanos’ mind raced backward in time. Saurfang had been a prisoner of the humans for weeks. From all accounts he had been kept in the prison they called the Stockade, and treated no better or worse than any other prisoner.

What had gone on between the overlord of the Horde and the king of Stormwind to change their relationship to such a degree that Anduin would send his spymaster to babysit the orc while he escaped? It was an intriguing question. “Yes,” his eyes flickered between Saurfang and Anduin. “We do understand one another.” He hoped Saurfang had the wit to read his meaning, but orcs were not known for their intuitive abilities. “I'll be certain to rein in my baser impulses around your little human,” he murmured in a voice too low for Anduin to catch.

Saurfang drew breath with an angry expression, then, seemingly thinking better of the impulse, contented himself with a huff. “Good,” he grunted. He stomped across the floor and resumed his position behind Anduin.

Placing himself between the king and the door, Nathanos noticed. He wasn’t certain if he ought to be insulted, that Saurfang considered him less of a threat than the unknown, or gratified that the orc was willing to take him at his word. “To what do I owe the honor of a royal visit?” he asked Anduin.

Anduin took a step forward. “You have my spymaster, Lord Blightcaller. I want him back.”

There was a choked sound from Saurfang. “Blightcaller!” the orc barked. “Is this true?”

“Please,” said Anduin. There was something in the word that drew Nathanos’ attention inexorably back to the golden-haired human. His voice was soft, almost hypnotic. “I know what you have done, Lord Blightcaller. Imprisoned him. Stripped him of his life and his will, enslaving him in order to take the secrets that he never would have given to you of his own volition.”

Shaw was right. There was something in the human that reminded him of Yurig, but where Yurig’s power was a simple tug, applied here and there like the gentle plucking of strings on a lute, Anduin’s was a river; a riptide of shame that rose up inside Nathanos, knives of guilt and sorrow that shredded his insides and threatened to choke him.

Had he actually been guilty of Anduin's charges he'd have fallen to his knees and wept with regret.

Instead, he raised an eyebrow and remarked, with all the dryness that he could muster, “Your Majesty has obviously been misinformed.” _Of course_ , he realized. Greymane must have managed to identify Shaw by his scent, overlaid with undeath, and drawn the obvious conclusion. It explained the worgen’s rage, and why he had stormed off soon after his meeting with Nathanos. He’d assumed Shaw was lost to them. Nathanos chuckled. “I can assure you that your former spymaster is not one of us. Who on Azeroth would have fed you such a misleading notion?”

“Then Shaw isn't dead?” The eager relief in Anduin’s eyes was plain to see. _His heart bleeds out through his eyes and his voice. He's so transparent you can't help but want to trust him_ …

 _This is a very dangerous man_ , Nathanos’ instincts told him. _Older than his appearance would suggest. A man who knows how to use surrender to achieve victory._ “Not as far as I am aware.” Nathanos crossed his arms. “I understand that he disappeared some time ago, but my sources have not been able to dig up any information on his whereabouts.” That much was certainly true. “I had assumed you had sent him sneaking about on spymaster business somewhere during that time. Do you know, I actually caught him in my private study once, many years ago. Did he ever put that in his reports, Your Majesty?”

“He did. He was fairly detailed as to the layout of your home,” Anduin confessed. “Not so much about what went on between you on a more personal level. Though he did mention that the two of you had unfinished business. Did you ever manage to get that settled?”

Nathanos caught himself on the verge of giving in to the desire to tell Anduin exactly how much satisfaction he had taken in the pursuit of that unfinished business. “Nothing is ever really settled, Your Majesty. Well. I'm glad I could clear up this little misunderstanding for you. How unfortunate that you had to travel all this way for nothing; perhaps the High Overlord could arrange for a tour of the city? Possibly even a small celebration?” He gave Anduin a bland smile. “In any case, I must be getting back…”

“Lord Blightcaller, you force me to be more direct. Do you have him?”

“I do not.” _By the favor of the gods, do not let Saurfang take up this line of questioning_... While lying to the human king didn’t trouble him at all, he could not risk telling the same lie to the high overlord.

“Is he telling the truth?” Saurfang demanded.

Anduin turned to face the orc. “Please, Lord Saurfang. Allow me to speak with him alone.”

“That means no,” guessed Saurfang. His lips curled up in a snarl.

The gods were obviously in a foul mood.

“Blightcaller, I'll rip your arms off and feed them to you if you've been lying to me!”

“I can assure you, Overlord, that nothing I have told you was a lie,” Nathanos told him frostily. He felt the reassuring weight of his quiver where it lay across his back. If Saurfang attacked him, he would defend himself and fill the orc full of arrows before he could get within arm-ripping distance. At least, he hoped that would be the outcome.

“Do you have Mathias Shaw?” Saurfang's eyes bored into his.

Curse it. There was no way to avoid the question, save with semantic manipulations that the orc wouldn’t have the wit to appreciate. _Not right here with me, at the moment…_ “I was given possession of him.”

“Bring him to me.”

 _Mine!_ A snarl of denial pulled Nathanos’ lips back from his teeth. “You'll have to speak to your warchief about that. She was the one who arranged for his capture. He was spying on our facilities in Dustwallow. And she has given him to me.”

“Are you refusing my orders, Blightcaller?” Saurfang snarled.

“I regret that I must, when they run at cross-purposes to my warchief’s instructions,” Nathanos sneered.

“Please,” said Anduin. “Enough. Just let me see him,” he pleaded. “Let me talk to him? Surely Sylvanas will allow him to be ransomed. You have had him for a year. He's worth nothing to you now.”

Nathanos hoped the king would never realize how untrue that statement was. “You'll have to speak to the warchief about that.”

“Lord Blightcaller.” Anduin took another step toward him. His hands rose, eloquently beseeching. “Mathias was taken, caught in the act of spying during a time when we were, if not at war, then at the very least armed opponents. What you did was well within your rights. Interrogating him...” Anduin’s voice broke. “Lord Saurfang was interrogated as well, when he was taken by the Alliance. But you have taken what you wanted from him. Have mercy. Let me bring him back home.”

Nathanos turned his face away, unable to bear the pleading look in the boy-king’s eyes. _What would be the harm_? something whispered inside him. _Let him speak to his friend. Let him see that Shaw is well_.

Saurfang moved closer to Anduin. His hand rose to lay itself over the king’s shoulder. His voice was a low rumble. “I will speak to the warchief. Shaw will be returned to you. I promise you this.” He turned his head to glare at Nathanos. “I will not forget this treachery, Blightcaller. You should have informed me.”

“Am I now to be responsible for keeping the peace between you and your warchief?” Nathanos snapped in irritation. “If she chooses not to pass on information who am I to challenge her decision?”

Saurfang growled.

“For what it's worth, she didn’t even tell me she had him until recently.” Nathanos’ gaze returned to Anduin. “He is...not currently being harmed.”

“May I speak with him?” Anduin's eyes were like clear pools. Nathanos found himself longing to reach out, to give Anduin what he desired. He tore his gaze away. Some kind of mind control? Or just Anduin?

Yurig could do that. Not to such devastating effect, thank the gods, else he'd have sent the tauren back to Thunder Bluff long ago. “If my lady orders it, then I would be more than willing to arrange such a meeting, Your Majesty.”

“I suppose I must content myself with that.” Anduin’s disappointment was like a dark cloud that settled over the room.

“Come with me, Your Majesty. We will speak with the warchief. She'll bring Blightcaller to heel quickly enough,” Saurfang spat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback welcome and much appreciated!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anduin wants a meeting with Shaw, and Saurfang is determined that he'll have it. Neither Nathanos nor Shaw are happy with the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly raised warning level. Yurig likes pain play and bondage, though mostly they just do a little prep work in this chapter.

“So…the little lion wants a meeting with his former spymaster. It was careless of you to let confirmation of his presence slip.” Sylvanas had wasted no time in calling him to account for what she saw as his failure. She sprawled carelessly over the throne in Grommash Hold, seemingly at ease but Nathanos could see the small signs of her general discontent. Broken shards of shattered ceramics littered the walls, and her fingers curled inward like claws against the cold stone.

“Saurfang forced the issue.”

“Saurfang is easy enough to handle as long as you understand his weaknesses. He goes on about his honor. And then there is his latest soft spot. It should have been a simple matter. Poke the little lion and Saurfang will bleed.”

“The Alliance’s king is not as easy to poke as you suggest.”

“I have not found that to be the case,” Sylvanas purred.

Nathanos kept his temper firmly under control. He suspected that the human was better at manipulation than Sylvanas gave him credit for, and he knew how to give her what she wanted without really giving her anything of value. But Sylvanas was in no mood to hear hard truths from him. There was no point in arguing with her. “I am sorry, my queen. What do you wish me to do?”

“I haven’t decided. I will inform you when I have.” The banshee turned her attention to the ceiling in a clear dismissal.

Nathanos exited the Hold and headed back to his apartment.

* * *

“Damn it, Blightcaller.” Shaw paced back and forth across the confines of the apartment’s single bedroom. “You couldn't just have lied to the orc? It wouldn't have been the first time.”

It was galling to admit, but Shaw was right. Nathanos had lied to Saurfang before. He had lied to everyone, even Sylvanas. It hardly bothered him, most days. “It must have been Anduin.”

“What did Anduin have to do with it?” Shaw growled. “Besides,” he continued, “you didn't have any trouble lying to him.”

Nathanos wondered if that were true. Anduin had given the illusion that he didn't believe Nathanos when he claimed he didn't have Shaw. Then Saurfang had made an assumption, and Nathanos had been unable to repeat his lie to Saurfang. Why had that happened? He had already decided to disavow any knowledge of Shaw’s whereabouts. But when the time came to put that decision into practice…he had simply been unable to.

It stank of priestly magic. Now that he had time to examine the memory of the conversation, he could see the telltale signs. One decision melting into its opposite, arguments that wouldn’t normally have persuaded him. The absolute certainty that he must not lie, and afterwards the justifications. It had started the moment he lied to Anduin.

“Anduin…is dangerous.” It made Nathanos uneasy, how casually he had been manipulated by the king's magic. If he had been asked his opinion earlier, Nathanos would have said Anduin Wrynn would never countenance mind control. But perhaps forcing someone to tell the truth was not what the priest considered mind control.

Ethics were such a fluid thing.

“Dangerous to you?” Shaw asked sharply. “In what way?”

“He was using his magic to manipulate me. I haven't got any protections against his cursed priestly powers.” Nathanos resisted the urge to snarl in his frustration. He had completely underestimated Anduin.

 _He's a cursed king_. He wasn't supposed to actually be effective at anything but talking.

“Maybe it's time for me to disappear.” Shaw leaned back against the wall, one knee bent and his arms crossed. “At least until the king leaves.”

“You would not be safe.” Yurig’s ears laid back flat against his head. “You should not leave us.” His features furrowed in concentration for a moment. Then he straightened and a look of determination came over him. “Take me with you, the next time you meet with the king.”

“You think you can protect me from the human king?” Nathanos asked in surprise. He knew that Yurig had a strong belief in the Earthmother that he worshipped, as strong in its own way as Anduin’s in his own Light. “How?”

“If his actions would harm you or Shaw, I will prevent them,” Yurig told him serenely.

“I would not risk you that way.” Nathanos was caught off-guard by a sudden, unexpected rush of terror at the thought of Yurig stepping between him and Saurfang. Gentle Yurig, who never meant harm to anyone, who would barely even defend himself when attacked. When Nathanos had first encountered him, the tauren had been a battered lump beneath the fists of a half dozen drunken young warriors who had attacked him because “he brought disgrace to the Horde.”

“The Earthmother will protect me,” Yurig told him. He reached out to enclose Nathanos’ face with his large, warm hands. “Do not fear for me, my lord.”

Nathanos scowled. “As she protected you that day in the Valley of Trials?” Yurig had been there with his father, participating in the combat and skill trials that were required of every young Horde warrior before they were considered adults. Yurig, being tauren, was not technically required to compete, but his father had insisted. He had done quite well, but that had not endeared him to his peers.

“She did, my lord.” Yurig’s eyes met his and there was no hesitation, no uncertainty in them. “She sent you.”

Shaw watched them both with an expression of undisguised skepticism. “Better to just quit the field until every enemy takes its siege weapons and goes home.”

“I would like to meet the human king.” Yurig gave Nathanos’ face a last caress, and folded his arms. “Maybe I can make him understand that Shaw belongs with us.”

“You don't have to make him understand anything.” Shaw pushed off from the wall. “If I disappear, you can truthfully say you don't know where I am. Eventually they'll go home.”

“We can't let that happen, Shaw. Not until this business with Jaina Proudmoore is done.”

Shaw shook his head. “I still think you’re insane, Blightcaller. She’ll never agreed to your plan. Besides, I thought you were switching strategies. You're pursuing the brother. You don't need to involve me.”

Nathanos considered his options. “I had planned to use the brother to lure Jaina in. If she keeps him close, I may have to use you, as we had originally decided.”

“Even if that works, there’s no guarantee that she…”

There was a knock at the door.

Shaw flipped his hood back in place. As Yurig went to open the door, Nathanos snatched up his bow and fitted an arrow to the string.

“Paranoid, Blightcaller,” Shaw murmured.

Nathanos raised an eyebrow, his gaze never wavering from his target. “Your point?”

“Thank you,” said Yurig, and closed the door. There was an envelope in his hand. He crossed the floor and handed it to Nathanos.

There was no seal on the envelope, but it was of high-quality paper. Nathanos slit the flap open. The letter inside was rose colored and of equally high-quality stock. It read:

“Six would be convenient. Thank you for your offer.”

It wasn't signed.

Scraping the hood back off his head, Shaw held out his hand, and Nathanos handed him the letter.

“What does it say?” Yurig asked curiously.

“Derek Proudmoore has accepted my offer to escort him about the city, and then I have promised to allow him to watch while I perform the ritual on you.”

“That sounds like fun,” Yurig’s ears flipped up eagerly. “The crafters market just got set up yesterday. We could take him there. Apple pies and crunchy squid. And Oni Earthweaver will be there with her scented oils. And you promised this time you would do the heated stones, and it will be safe because Shaw will be there help guard you…”

Nathanos held up a hand. “Yes. Very well. We'll make the crafter’s market our first stop.” It was a yearly event which Yurig loved to attend; last year at this time they had been in the Barrens for two weeks and Yurig had been disappointed to miss it. “The only question is whether to include Shaw as part of the tour.”

Shaw finished examining the letter and put it down. “Proudmoore house watermark and embossment,” he remarked. “I can't be a hundred percent certain but they look genuine. Looks like her paper; I doubt Derek would have chosen pink. I don't recognize the handwriting, so it wasn't written by Jaina, but the untidiness of the scrawl speaks of a man's hand, and one who is not accustomed to such fine work as writing letters. Looks like he broke his quill halfway through.”

“So, you think he wrote the letter on her stationery?” Nathanos mused. “Would he have taken her into his confidence, do you think?” It might be that Jaina would not approve of anything that might extend the life of the living corpse which had once been her brother. “Maybe he thinks she wouldn't approve of his request.”

“If he is in as bad a shape as you've described, she'll be frantic for something to restore him,” Shaw told him. “She might not approve of you, but she'd be willing to listen.”

“Are you certain? She may be regretting his existence by now.”

“I was there when Baine returned him to Jaina. And I was with them on the journey back. She was so happy to have him back, Blightcaller. It was difficult for her, adjusting to…” he broke off. “Derek was newly raised. He didn’t know any more about how to care for himself than Jaina did. But she learned. For him.” Shaw gazed at him steadily. “She loves her brothers. Both of them. And she'd do anything to save either one of them if they were in danger.”

“If you're right,” Nathanos told him, “that would make it less likely that this,” he picked up the letter and dropped it again “…is a trap.”

“A trap? What sort of trap?”

“To lure me into exposing you.” It was a thing that Nathanos had given a great deal of thought to. _Why had Jaina brought her brother with her to Orgrimmar_? “They expected you to be one of the Forsaken. Perhaps they thought that Derek would draw you out.”

Shaw shook his head. “That doesn't make sense unless we assume they assume that I have a choice in what I'm doing. From what you said about your conversation with the king, that doesn't seem likely.”

Nathanos acknowledge the truth of Shaw's conclusion. It had been quite clear that Anduin expected Shaw to have the status of a possession, not a participant. “Then I am back to a question without a good answer. Why bring her brother at all?”

Shaw shoved the tip of his mustache into his mouth and sucked pensively at it. “I think that question would be best answered by Derek himself. Let's start out with just the two of you escorting him, and I'll join you once you get to the fair. We'll pretend my identity is supposed to be a secret, and let him ‘discover’ it. Let him think I'm your toy. He'll talk to me, and I'll be able to get a better idea of what's going on, how they plan to extract me.”

Nathanos nodded. It was a good plan. Considering the vulnerable condition that the Forsaken Kul Tiran was in right now, it wouldn't be difficult for Shaw to extract every detail to which Derek had been made privy. “They probably won't have told him much.”

“They'll have given him instructions. I can extrapolate from those.”

“Their intent will be to lure you away.”

“I'm aware of that,” Shaw’s eyes glittered. “Afraid I'll take advantage of the opportunity, Blightcaller?”

 _Yes. Perhaps_. Nathanos didn't like feeling conflicted. He was ill-equipped to make emotional decisions, and his feelings for Shaw were becoming far too complicated. He wasn't certain what he should tell Shaw to ensure that the man would wish to stay with him.

Perhaps a reminder that he was giving Shaw as much freedom as he could… “If that is what you choose to do, I am hardly in a position to prevent it, these days.”

The quick flash of frustration that passed over Shaw's face baffled Nathanos. What answer had the man expected? Dealing with a terrified, almost-broken Shaw had been easier in many ways. Now that the man was recovering, Nathanos often found himself at a loss as to what Shaw's needs were and how to satisfy them. “But if we give them the impression that I'm the one in charge…”

“I know, I know,” Shaw said impatiently. “That’s easy enough to fix, though. We'll have to work out some sort of fairly obvious system for me to seem to be communicating my orders to you. Jaina will pick up on that, confront me with it, and at that point I can take over.”

“You two make things so complicated,” Yurig grumbled. “Does that mean you will have to come up with a way for my lord to convey to you…” he glanced at Shaw “…what you are supposed to be instructing my lord to do?” He scratched at an ear in a gesture that Nathanos recognized as Yurig dealing with stress. “You make my head hurt sometimes with the way you do things.”

“Hmmm.” Nathanos seated himself on the bed. “Come here,” he commanded. He waited while Yurig sat cross-legged on the floor, guiding his head backward into Nathanos’ lap. He began rubbing the sensitive spots behind Yurig’s ears and inside them, watching the tauren’s eyes close with pleasure and his body squirm. His own internal tension began to loosen. Yurig’s pleasure was soothing to him in a way he had never been able to define.

“There's only one way this will end well, and I'll be damned if I have any idea how we're going to get there,” Shaw said.

Nathanos looked up. Shaw was gazing out the window, and in his eyes was a faint echo of the terror that had once been with the man constantly. “Your plan is a good one,” he told Shaw. “Once you have had the chance to question Derek, we will be in a better position to plot our course.”

Yurig gave a moan as Nathanos’ fingers found a particularly sensitive spot. He squirmed and made a small breathy noise, and his legs began to straighten and thrust out.

Shaw glanced down at the tauren, whose tented trousers gave witness to his enjoyment of Nathanos’ attentions. “Do you...want me to give you some privacy?” His face had taken on a carefully neutral expression.

Nathanos made a guess as to the source of Shaw’s distress and hoped that he was correctly interpreting it. “No. Come. Touch him.”

Shaw froze. “Is that an order, Blightcaller?”

“Yes.”

Their eyes met, Shaw’s staring into his searchingly. Then, “It's all right, Blightcaller. I...you don't have to protect me from myself. We don't have to pretend that I don't want this.” There was a plaintive note in his voice.

“It’s all right if you do. There's no shame in the need for touch,” Nathanos told him as Shaw knelt down next to Yurig and loosened the draw-string of the tauren’s trousers. “Even I have that need. Occasionally,” he amended.

“Yes. I suppose that’s part of it, if I’m being honest. But…he always takes care of me. He knows what I need. He makes me feel..” _safe_. He didn’t speak the word, but Nathanos heard it as clearly as if he had. “I want to learn more about what he needs.”

The sexual relationship between Nathanos and Yurig had always made Shaw uncomfortable. That was understandable; Yurig’s needs bordered too closely on the torments that Sylvanas had subjected the spymaster to. The first time Shaw had witnessed a full session between Blightcaller and Yurig it had traumatized him to the point that Nathanos had been forced to interrupt the proceedings in order to remove Shaw from the room.

The tauren’s huge cock sprang to attention as Shaw tugged his trousers lower. “I suppose,” he said thoughtfully “that I should be glad Sylvanas wasn't trying to keep me away from Baine as well.”

Nathanos silently echoed Shaw’s sentiments. A rutting orc never lost control of his passions; they were more like humans in that regard. But the tauren…there was a reason they were not often known to sexually cross the racial barrier. He was always careful to fully restrain Yurig before subjecting him to intense stimulation. “There are scented oils in the red box on the top shelf,” he told Shaw. “He prefers the one with the blue label. And bring me the knives wrapped in leather, next to the box.”

Yurig made a needy noise, and his cock jerked and started to leak.

“I'm going to make this quick,” Nathanos murmured. “Your full potency will be needed tonight.”

“Then tie me, my lord,” Yurig groaned. “Force me to wait for you.”

Shaw had fetched the oil and was coating his hands. “There's no way that's fitting in my mouth,” he muttered.

“Wait,” Nathanos commanded. “Don't touch him yet. We’ll need the ties.”

Shaw did as he was instructed. Without waiting for further direction he opened the lid and extracted two short lengths of soft leather. They looked like bootstrings. “Do you want me to..?”

“No.” Nathanos slid out from beneath Yurig’s head, carefully maneuvering himself around the tauren’s horns, and knelt on the floor. “He's going to be wearing these for hours. It must be done correctly.” He tied one of the leather cords around the stem of Yurig’s right testicle, tightly enough to restrict but not enough to interfere with blood flow. “Take a look. See how I've done it.”

Shaw fingered Yurig’s testicle, examining the tie, and Yurig made a happy noise. “You know,” the spymaster remarked, avoiding Nathanos’ gaze “this is not something I had ever envisioned becoming part of my occupational duties.”

Nathanos gave a small snort. “Now you do the other one.”

Shaw tied and retied his knot three times before he was satisfied, and Yurig was openly squirming and whimpering before he was done.

Nathanos inspected his binding and pronounced it adequate. “A little loose but..no,” he said as Shaw reached for the leather “Good enough.” He reached up to catch hold of the tauren’s ear, rubbing it until Yurig gave a small, needy whine, then twisted and pinched. “You will not touch yourself until I give you leave. You will wait on my pleasure. Do you understand?”

“Yes. My lord.” The tauren’s body arched up, offering himself for Nathanos' attentions.

Shaw rubbed his hands together to redistribute the oil. A tight cry came from Yurig’s throat as Shaw's oiled hand closed around his cock.

“Unless your intent is to be deliberately cruel, and I’ve no objection to it in moderation,” Nathanos remarked, “I'd suggest you not do that.”

“Oh...right. Sorry.” Shaw transferred the attentions of his hand to Yurig’ chest, rubbing soothing circles over the tauren’s sternum. “You going to be okay, there, big guy?”

The tauren shuddered. “My lord’s torments are exquisite.”

“Umm...I'll take that as a yes,” Shaw said doubtfully. “It wouldn't be my preference. If I had a choice,” he added with a glance at Nathanos. “So...I secretly follow you to the embassy, then to the fair. Wander around for a while to give me some time to suss out any tails that Proudmoore may have set on you. They’ll either be SI:7, in which case I should recognize them, or they’ll be Kul Tiran and clumsy as hell. In the latter case, it shouldn’t be difficult to put them off the game…”

“Leave them be,” ordered Nathanos. “If she wants to know where we go and what we do, all the better.”

“What if the tail is supposed to be looking for me?” Shaw absently fingered one of Yurig’s middle set of nipples and the tauren gave a small whimper of pleasure and leaned closer to Shaw. His lids fell languidly as Shaw continued his half-aware explorations. “We’ll need a contingency plan if she comes in with all guns blazing.”

“You said she’s a planner…”

“No. I never said that. I said she's most effective if she has time to plan. But if she gets alarmed…”

“We will do nothing to alarm her. If we have observers, I wish to know about it, but do not interfere with them.”

“Mmhm,” Shaw agreed. “What about afterwards?”

“I doubt your SI:7 agents are good enough to sneak into our room without being noticed,” Nathanos remarked dryly. “And we’ll draw the curtains.”

“And then?”

“Then, Derek Proudmoore will see what I have to offer him. And he will decide if he wants my help.”

“If he refuses?”

“Then you will have to approach Jaina directly. If she loves her brother as much as you say, she’ll be receptive. She should be willing to trust you, now that she knows you are still human.”

Shaw nodded. “If she says she doesn’t want any part of this plan of yours, we’ll drop it and go to plan B, right?”

“We haven’t got a plan B, Shaw. Be persuasive. You don’t have a backup.”

“If she refuses, will you tell her to take me back to Kul Tiras with her…of course,” Shaw suddenly broke off. “That’s why she brought Derek.” He looked stricken. “At least, it could be why.”

“Why?”

“I’d prefer to confirm before I make any assumptions. But…Jaina has a kind heart.”

Nathanos thought about it for a moment. “You think she brought Derek to…help you adjust? To make you feel more comfortable? She expected to find you in the same condition Derek was when Baine took him from Sylvanas.”

“That seems logical.” Shaw raised his gaze to Nathanos’. “I’ll do my best to persuade her, Blightcaller. I swear I will. But if it doesn’t work.” He broke off and stared at the floor, jaw clenched.

“Shaw. Look at me,” Nathanos commanded.

Reluctantly, the spymaster raised his eyes.

“I will do whatever is necessary to keep you safe,” Nathanos promised him quietly. “You will not fall back into Sylvanas’ hands. If that means sending you away with Proudmoore, I will see it done.”

Shaw nodded, and some of the tension left his body. “Not a complete bastard, are you?” Something blazed up in his eyes when he looked at Nathanos, something that Nathanos did not often see, and never before so spontaneously.

Mercifully, Nathanos sent Yurig from the room before pulling Shaw down onto the bed with him.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathanos has invited Derek to tour Orgrimmar with him, and to observe a secret ritual. But first, Nathanos plans to indulge Yurig a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little glimpse into what Nathanos and Yurig get up to behind closed doors. Warnings for bondage and pain play, nothing too graphic yet. If these are triggers for you, be cautious.

At nine in the morning, the Orgrimmar Embassy was normally deserted. Diplomats tended to keep late hours. There was snoring coming from under one of the tables in the reception room. Goblins, most likely, observed Nathanos. They could sleep anywhere, and through almost anything, and many of the domestic staff were willing to provide 24 hour service to avoid paying for regular quarters. At one corner of the room was an open door. Through it, Nathanos could see the flared hem of a blue skirt. The sounds of an argument broke off as he approached.

Jaina Proudmoore whirled about as he entered the room. Her expression was openly hostile. Her gaze landed on Yurig as he followed Nathanos into the room and then over the tauren’s shoulder, as if she was expecting a third person to enter.

“Thank you for coming, Lord Blightcaller.” Derek inclined his head. “It is kind of you to offer you your time.” He had abandoned his shroud, and was dressed in a crisp white shirt and black trousers. Jeweled cuffs glittered at his wrists, and his boots were of an expensive cut. The morning light brought out the pallor of his skin, but the effect was somewhat muted by the subtle application of foundation and a dusting of powder. White, buttoned gloves concealed his hands and a cutlass hung at his hip. The Proudmore crest decorated its jeweled pommel.

Jaina gave a dismissive sniff.

“You don’t consider my time a valuable commodity?” Nathanos drawled with a smirk. He preferred the lord admiral off balance. She was definitely not an expert when it came to the art of the snide comment.

“From what I've heard, you spend most of it hiding in your stolen castle with your…” she broke off, giving Yurig an assessing look “...your servants. So, no, it doesn't sound as if we've much to be grateful for in achieving your presence.”

Nathanos let his eyebrows rise. “I hope your brother will find my efforts to be of more value,” he said with smug pleasantry. He turned to Derek, enjoying the man’s rather obvious look of discomfort at his sister’s words. “If you would care to join me, Lord Proudmoore...”

“Where are you taking us?” Jaina asked sharply.

“You force me to be less than courteous, Lord Admiral. You were not included in my invitation. Should you wish an escort in the city, I can certainly arrange it, but as your brother and I will be exploring options not suited to the living…” He shrugged.

Jaina stared pointedly at Yurig.

“Oh, I’m as good as dead,” Yurig told her cheerfully. He shook his horns with a good-natured tilt to his head, and scratched himself behind an ear.

Derek hid a smile, the first one Nathanos had seen on the Forsaken’s otherwise mournful countenance. Then he turned to his sister. “I'll be fine, Jaina. Lord Blightcaller has promised my safety and I have heard it said many times that he is a man of honor.” He leaned forward and laid a kiss on his sister's forehead.

She didn't shudder, or shrink back from him, Nathanos noted. Her hands clutched at his arms briefly before releasing him. She gave Nathanos a hard look. “He may be certain that I will hold him to that promise.”

“You may consider me warned.” Nathanos gave her a shallow bow and exited the room.

“I must apologize for my sister, Lord Blightcaller,” Derek said once they emerged onto the streets of the Valley of Spirits. “She has been under a great deal of stress.”

Nathanos waved his hand. “Think nothing of it. No doubt she is concerned for your physical safety as well as your peace of mind. Being here in Orgrimmar cannot be a pleasant experience for you.”

“No.” Derek fell silent as they navigated the ramps down to the Valley of Strength and headed for the gate. His steps began to falter. “We're... not going to tour Orgrimmar?” he asked hesitantly.

“We’re going to the crafter’s fair.” Yurig fell into step beside Derek, taking short strides to match the smaller man’s speed. “There are so many vendors there is no room inside the city for them anymore. I think you will like it very much,” he confided enthusiastically. “My lord enjoys it far more than he will admit.”

“Mind your flapping tongue,” Nathanos grumbled fondly.

They exited at the gates and headed off across the hard clay ground of Durotar. Small puffs of red dust were kicked up by the crowds of people and the heat of the day beat down on their heads. The sky was a nearly cloudless sea of azure. They wound their way around rock formations and jagged cracks formed in the drying earth. A huge kodo lumbered by, carrying a load of boxes tied with rope and led by a troll whose tusks had been decorated with pink bows. He had a slightly embarrassed look on his face.

“I remember this place,” Derek ventured. “That pen...when I was last here it was filled with pigs.”

Today, the large pen in Jaggedswine Farms was full of kodos. The massive, thick-skinned animals jostled each other, the largest using the sizable humps above their shoulders to lean into smaller animals who were crowding. Smaller kodos ducked and bleated, trying to keep from being trampled.

“I think all the pigs are hanging in the Jaggedswine meat locker now,” Yurig told him. “It makes room for all the mounts and pulling teams. He sells the meat and charges for kodo boarding while the fair is going on. He says he doubles his profits that way.” Yurig was exhaustingly social. Normally, he would spend much of his time catching up with the vendors, many of whom he had not spoken with since the last fair, while Nathanos watched from a distance. His presence often was a detriment to conversation, a fact that Yurig bemoaned but Nathanos did not.

At the large pool next to the pen were several men and women watering their kodos. They wore leathers and carried axes; typical Durotar land workers. Beyond the farm, a huge sea of gaily colored tents and makeshift booths stretched back into Razorwind Canyon.

“Look! There's Uma. And Talben.” Yurig waved at a dark-furred tauren sitting in the shade of a rock. Crowded around him were several dozen children, mostly orcs and trolls, all listening in rapt attention.

The tauren was telling a story in orcish, about a sacred white kodo that saved a tauren chieftain from a horde of pillaging centaurs. His deep voice boomed out over the hubbub of the crowds and the children seemed fascinated by his story.

“I hope this is not too simple an entertainment for you, Lord Proudmoore,” Nathanos murmured. “Yurig takes such pleasure in it, and what gives Yurig pleasure pleasures me as well.” Derek was bound to be discomfited by what Nathanos would do to Yurig for the Gurubashi ritual tonight; it would be wise to convince him of Nathanos’ fondness for the tauren beforehand.

“Not at all.” Derek seemed a little dazed. “It is not what I expected, I will admit.”

Nathanos gave a dry chuckle. “You expected to be dragged through the dark underbelly of the city and forced to endure the black dreariness of our undead existence.”

Derek looked startled, then embarrassed. “I do beg your pardon, Lord Blightcaller.”

“Nathanos, if you don't mind.”

“Nathanos, then. Please call me Derek. I should not have presumed…”

His original intent had been exactly as Derek had apparently expected, Nathanos thought with amusement, until Yurig insisted otherwise. Fortunately, he had come to rely on Yurig’s instincts in such matters. “Our lives and interests don't have to be confined to darkness and death,” Nathanos told him. He gazed at Yurig, happily bargaining with Uma for scented oils beneath the canopy of blue and green fabric.

“Perhaps here, that is true.” Derek gazed out over the throngs of fair-goers. Many of them were Forsaken, some wearing the Shroud, others simply walking or limping along in their tattered clothing, some of them with death wounds openly displayed. The more ragged and decaying of the Forsaken were avoided by the living, but not openly attacked or made to feel too unwelcome.

“It must be uncomfortable, constantly surrounded by only the living,” Nathanos remarked. “Though they have their uses...and their charms...they are a constant reminder of what we have lost.”

“Yes,” Derek said wistfully. “It would be nice to…” he broke off, straightening and lacing his gloved hands tightly together behind his back.

“Come,” said Nathanos. “There is much to see.”

They strolled from booth to tent with Yurig eagerly introducing the tauren, whose names he all knew, and many of the orcs and trolls. Goblins had been banned from the event unless the merchandise had been made by their own hands, and, traditionally, direct sales were frowned on by the goblins. The wind whistled through the canyon, causing the tents to flap and forcing merchants to anchor their lighter merchandise so it wouldn’t blow away.

Far in the distance, the screeching cries of harpies could be heard, but they had all been cleared out from this section and their hanging nests knocked down. The worst creature fair-goers had to contend with was the occasional scorpion, and most of them knew not to go barefoot. Or bare hoofed.

“Here,” Yurig thrust a wooden skewer at Derek. “Try this. Thelma Louise makes the best stiff-on-a-stick you'll ever taste.” He pointed to a Forsaken woman in a rust stained apron. Her withered fingers delicately peeled the skin off a ground squirrel.

Derek froze, staring at the object in his hand as if it was about to attack him. “What...what is it?”

“Rodents, mostly,” Nathanos assured him. “The name is meant as a jest.” Obviously, the Kul Tiran was afraid he was going to be fed human flesh in defiance of his preferences. “Please do not be afraid that we will disrespect your choices, Derek. Though I do not completely share them, I respect your right to make them for yourself.”

“Of course.” Derek's relief was almost painful. “My apologies.” He bit into the meat, and a look of amazement transformed his features. “I can taste it,” he said. “Really taste it. How..?”

“Thelma soaks it in her secret herbal mixture for days before the fair,” Yurig told him. He handed one to Nathanos, who bit into it with no less relish then Derek had showed.

“Our senses may be dulled, but they do respond if given the proper preparation.” _Speaking of preparation_ … Nathanos gazed at Yurig, wondering if the tauren was in any discomfort from being tied. He didn't seem to be, but Nathanos had learned not to judge such things by appearance. “If you'll excuse me for a moment,” he said to Derek, who nodded and returned to his discussion of savory herbs with Thelma. “Yurig. Come.”

He led the tauren into a sheltered crack in the stone wall that defined the canyon, hidden from view by a tall wooden booth selling embroidered clothing. “Spread your legs. I'm going to check your ties.”

“Yes, my lord.” Yurig leaned back against the stone, legs spread as widely as he could manage in the cramped space, panting and whimpering as Nathanos slid his hands under the tauren’s rope belt and down his pants. 

He conducted a thorough examination as the tauren’s cock hardened and began to weep, and Yurig managed to squirm without dislodging himself from the crevasse.

“Honestly, Blightcaller, you're like a couple of horny teenagers back here,” Shaw muttered. He had exchanged his usual dark gray Shroud for one which was burnt orange, trimmed with gold findings.

“I wondered when you'd show up,” Nathanos remarked. Yurig’s balls were hot and not too tight, which meant that his circulation was adequate. “And he's food, not sex. Entirely different.”

“I am...whatever my Lord...wishes me to be,” Yurig panted. He let out a moan, half in relief and half in disappointment, as Nathanos removed his hands.

“Huh. Not particularly buying it, Blightcaller.” Shaw craned his head, peering around the booth. “Do you want me to make an appearance now? You've got two observers, both SI:7. Both young. One of them has made me as a potential player, but I don't think he suspects who I am yet.”

“Yes. It's time.”

Derek was still engaged in his discussion, but as Nathanos, Yurig and Shaw approached, Thelma made her apologies and transferred her attentions to another customer.

“Time for hot rocks,” Yurig announced. “My lord...you promised,” he reminded Nathanos, who was giving Yurig a look of completely counterfeited irritation.

“Hot rocks?” Derek asked.

“I believe you'll find the experience quite pleasant,” Nathanos assured him. In response to Derek's glances, he gestured carelessly at Shaw. “One of my retainers.”

Derek nodded, obviously curious, but didn’t ask more questions.

The hot rocks tent was three times the size of most of the other tents at the fair. It had been erected around a hot springs pool. Steam rose up from the corners of the tent, and a mist shrouded trickle of water led away from beneath its edges.

Nathanos dropped a dozen coins into the proprietor’s hands and Yurig selected a large bag of herbs from a nearby table. They entered the tent. The pool was deep sided and flat, and large enough for several human-sized bodies. Yurig wedged the stopper rock more deeply into the drainage hole, and dumped the herbs into the water. Nathanos begin to strip off his clothing.

After a moment, hesitantly, Derek followed suit. He removed his gloves and laid them aside with his sword, then unbuttoned his shirt. “What is that smell?” he asked suddenly. “It's...incredible. I've never smelled anything like it before. It feels like…I can’t even describe what it feels like.”

“A selection of herbs, treated with an alchemical process that binds and enhances the scents,” Yurig told him. “It is specially formulated to stimulate the Forsaken senses.”

Shaw was shifting uncomfortably in his Shroud. “Too hot in here,” he complained, and backed out of the tent.

Derek's eyes narrowed.

The Forsaken weren't bothered by extremes of temperature. If Derek hadn’t suspected before that there was a human inside Shaw's Shroud, he certainly would now. But Shaw was no fool, so his ‘slip’ must have been deliberate. Nathanos let his last article of clothing slide to the ground and stepped into the pool of water. Nearly groaning in pleasure, he stretched out his legs, feeling the heat soak into his unliving flesh, and sucked the heady scent of the herbs into his airways.

Derek stripped down to his smalls, then dropped them after a moment of hesitation. His body was emaciated, every knob of his spine standing out, every rib clearly defined. His belly was concave. He was missing two toes and his limbs were as thin as sticks. There were no gaping wounds, but his chalky skin was spotted with dark lesions and purple areas where the flesh was beginning to rot away.

He caught Nathanos examining him and lifted his chin defiantly.

“The Forsaken do not judge each other's bodies,” Yurig told him, eyes laden with sympathy. “It is not a thing you should feel shame for.” He reached out, slowly, as if trying not to startle Derek, and touched a large dark patch covering the man’s ribs. “My lord can help you with that,” he told Derek.

“I won't eat human flesh.”

Yurig’s ears twitched. “Neither does my lord,” he confided.

Nathanos gave him a sharp look, which Yurig didn’t give any indication of acknowledging.

“Come,” Yurig coaxed. “Into the water. It will make you feel wonderful, I promise. No, all the way down.” He stroked the man’s arm comfortingly. “You don't need to breathe. Fill your lungs. Let the water enter you and soothe you.”

Nathanos waited until Derek was completely underwater before submerging himself. It was utter bliss. The herbs enhanced his senses, but at the same time soothed him, relaxing his muscles to the point that he doubted he would be able to do more than crawl if faced with any form of emergency. It was one of the reasons he was reluctant to indulge in a public place like the fair. But Yurig would fight to protect him, and Shaw was on guard outside. He had been warned what to expect.

Eventually, Nathanos felt Yurig’s hands digging into his armpits, dragging him out of the pool onto a large towel laid over the red earth floor of the canyon. He expelled the herb-laden water from his lungs with a practiced thrust. Derek was likewise extracted and laid out, face down, on his own towel. Water dribbled from his nose and mouth. Yurig began to pat him dry.

The proprietor stuck his head into the tent. “Five-minute warning,” he said. “Unless you'll be wanting another session, Lord Blightcaller?”

“Not necessary.” Reluctantly, Nathanos managed to get his legs under him.

Yurig was dressing Derek, who hadn't the strength to even turn over without assistance. The Kul Tiran’s eyes were half-closed, a contented smile on his thin lips.

From experience, Nathanos knew Derek wouldn't be capable of walking out of the tent on his own. He was obviously too far into euphoria. “Carry him, Yurig.”

Yurig finished dressing Derek and scooped him up, barely seeming it to notice the man's weight at all. Derek lolled bonelessly in the tauren’s arms, his expression one of utter relaxation.

The cooling wind that whistled through the canyon cleared Nathanos’ mind. It had gotten dark enough that there were torches being lit between the booths. In the distance, he heard the sound of musical instruments and singing. There was still plenty of bargaining going on, but many of the vendors’ customers had gravitated in the direction of the city, where the entertainers and drinking booths would be setting up. The celebration would continue all night, though the vendors would be closing their booths soon.

Shaw fell into step beside him. “This doesn't look good,” he warned, nodding toward Yurig and Derek.

Nathanos shrugged. “By the time she gets their report, Derek should have recovered.”

“Hmm,” Shaw grumbled. “All the same, you should have warned me. I could have done damage control. Lured them off. They're extremely curious about me.” He seemed inordinately pleased with that fact. “What is that stuff that you soaked him in, anyway?”

“Catnip for the undead,” Yurig offered with an impudent glance at Nathanos. They stopped to listen to the music for a time, while Derek struggled to stand upright. Perhaps he ought not to have allowed Yurig to toss in the entire bag, Nathanos thought ruefully. With Derek's weakened constitution, he had been affected more strongly. Eventually he was standing on his own; he twitched his clothing straight and began buttoning his cuffs. Then he paused, looking about. After a moment of consideration, he deliberately began to roll up his shirt sleeves, exposing his wasted arms. The white gloves were shoved into his pocket. Yurig unbuckled the Kul Tiran’s sword and handed it to him.

The song finished, and the trio of goblins was replaced by two trolls with pipes and an orc wearing Blackrock clan devices. They began a surprisingly haunting melody, the orc’s deep baritone complemented by the lonely trill of the pipes. They sounded like the wind. By the time they had finished, the crowd had fallen mostly silent. Then the trolls launched into a song of the sea, a familiar tune that soon had their audience joining in. Nathanos considered his next destination. Although his original plan had been to take Derek through various places in Orgrimmar open only to the Forsaken, after spending hours in Derek's company it was clear that it would not appeal to the man.

That left only one more task to be accomplished that evening. Nathanos drifted closer to Derek's side. “I hope you didn't find the hot stones experience overwhelming,” he remarked.

“It was overwhelming. But…” Derek's head tilted and a look of wonder widened his eyes “...I think it was something I needed. Every day it feels like there is a bit less of me housed in this numb, unliving body. What I just experienced took me outside of my body so that I could be fully present when I returned. It makes no sense, but…”

“It is but the first step toward reacquiring what you have lost. Tonight, I will share with you my own personal remedy for the ravages of time. Time is not the enemy for us that it is for the living, but it is an enemy. The living grow and their bodies are self-aware. Ours are not. We only decay. Therefore, any repairs must come from external sources.”

“Humans eat as well,” Derek remarked.

“True. As do the Forsaken. But consider the situation of a human who strongly reveres life and has vowed never to eat a thing that had once been alive.”

“He...would starve.”

“Indeed.”

“To die for one's beliefs is not the worst death a man can suffer,” Derrick said quietly.

“No. But to die unnecessarily... to no purpose…”

“It is not a man's death that defines him or gives him purpose, but his life. Still...I will try to keep an open mind.”

The Kul Tiran’s mind had grown noticeably more focused since his treatment. Nathanos suspected that his earlier debilitation had been an ailment more of the mind than the body. “I would expect no more, and no less.” It was a pity, from a practical standpoint. His secrets would have been easier to extract from the earlier, more scattered Derek Proudmoore. “I hope that our relationship has progressed to the point that we can converse upon a more serious vein?” He had set his hooks into the man; it was time to try and see what they were strong enough to bear.

“I think that is a fair statement, L...Nathanos.”

“What is it that you envision for your existence, Derek? I imagine that you must feel that the Admiralty is beyond your grasp.”

“It is.” There was steel in Derek's voice.

“Is that because you no longer desire it? Or because you feel your people would not accept you?”

“You are...quite frank, Nathanos.” There was a hint of warning in Derek's words.

“I have that reputation,” Nathanos confessed. He saw Shaw drift by. The spymaster had changed out of his orange shroud into one made of scraps of leather & twine. The only reason he could be certain it was Shaw was because he had designed that Shroud himself. “I apologize if it offends. I haven't any patience with word games.”

He could only imagine what Shaw would have made of that statement. _Unless the games are your own, Blightcaller_.

“More the former. I am not fit to lead. If I was…”

“Your sister does not approve of us. Of the Forsaken.”

“She has good reason not to. As do I.” There was a challenging tilt to his chin.

“Granted. But there is something of which you may not have been aware. Did it not strike you how easy it was for Baine to steal you from your room, the night he came for you?”

“From my prison, you mean? No. It had not. Are you suggesting that she knowingly let me go?” Derek's voice had deepened to a snarl, and his milky eyes flushed with red.

By that time, Sylvanas had finished with her torments and was plying Derek with the comforts which she had previously ordered denied him. Food. Warmth. Amusements. Conversation. “She has never confirmed my suspicions, but she is not usually so careless. Especially not with matters of such importance.”

“And you think I was important to her? As a vehicle to deliver the plague to Kul Tiras?” Derek's tone was disbelieving. “It would never have worked,” he said scornfully. “My sister would never have been taken in.”

“I never saw any evidence that she intended to infect you with the Blight,” Nathanos said truthfully. The truth was that turning Derek into a walking bomb with the Blight was impossible; it needed to be inhaled, and it affected the Forsaken. But Sylvanas had been counting on the fact that the Alliance hadn’t known that.

“But...I was told…” Derek’s eyes mirrored his confusion. “I was told that I was infected. They said it was a new technique. A mutation. That it would only affect the living.”

“She lied to you. And it made you determined not to escape.”

“It did. But Baine insisted. He had me examined and the shaman pronounced me free of infection. It was the only way I would let him take me to Jaina.”

Nathanos nodded. “As I suspected.”

“So...what are you suggesting, Blightcaller?” Derek demanded angrily. “What was her intent, if not to reduce me to a Blight bomb that could be used to destroy my people?”

Shaw was closer, now. Close enough to listen in, as he was no doubt doing. This would all be news to him as well. “She had planned on leaking news of your existence to Jaina, to induce Jaina to come to her.” To beg for her brother, perhaps expecting to be refused, only to be handed the man without argument. So that Jaina might be won over, convinced that Sylvanas had raised Derek as a favor to Jaina. To say that Sylvanas was furious when Baine stole Derek...was a gross understatement.

“To what purpose? Did she think she could use me to lure Jaina into her trap?”

That had been his original understanding. But then something had changed. “If her intent had been to harm your sister, she would have attacked at Thunder Bluff.”

Sylvanas’ forces had marched quickly. Too quickly for Anduin to field much in the way of support for the tauren. Baine and Jaina and Saurfang had faced off with Sylvanas and Nathanos and their army on the grassy plains of Mulgore, within ballista range of Thunder Bluff.

Instead of ordering an attack, Sylvanas had demanded that Jaina meet her, face to face, bringing only a single companion. Nathanos had found himself on a windy hill, with his coat flapping about his legs, being glared at murderously by Thrall while Jaina and Sylvanas talked. He wasn't able to hear anything of what they said, but the conversation did not end badly. Perhaps to the surprise of all.

Afterward, Sylvanas’ forces had returned to Orgrimmar without laying waste to Thunder Bluff, and she abandoned her charges of treason against Baine. And, even more unexpected, Saurfang had returned to his position as high overlord. He and Sylvanas were still openly disdainful of each other, but at least their sparring was limited to the verbal arena.

“Jaina never told me what happened. Only that Sylvanas had left without firing a single shot. I was relieved. When I heard that she was going to destroy Thunder Bluff, that Baine had risked his people to save me...why, Nathanos? Can you make any sense of it for me?”

 _Probably. But it is likely that you would find the truth even more disturbing than the uncertainty_. “She never spoke of it to me either. Except to say that she and Jaina had come to an understanding. It is interesting…” He let a speculative note creep into his voice “When she speaks of Jaina these days, it is almost as if…” Nathanos cut off his own words abruptly, as if he had suddenly realized he was being indiscreet.

Derek's eyes opened wider, his interest piqued. _Another hook set_.

“But we were not discussing the past, merely the future. Your future. I find myself curious. Were you hoping to find a place among us, Derek? Is that why you are here? Among others of your kind? A place where you can walk, unashamed and accepted?”

Nathanos waved his hand out over the crowd of fair-goers. The music had turned more lively and there were dozens of dancers in the crowd. Many of the Forsaken had shed their Shrouds now that they were cloaked in the shadow of the growing twilight. Their bones gleamed in the torchlight. A number of them had been polished and decorated with tiny jewels or runes depicting their lost lives, carved in memoriam. The facets flashed as they danced, as if the movement was spitting sparks out from their inner cores. “Those who choose not to partake of human flesh, or only rarely indulge, display their choices proudly. You could find a place among them. There are many who share your principles.”

For a moment, Nathanos could see the longing in Derek's eyes. To be offered a place in the sun, and not forced to cower in shame, surrounded by those who despised and feared him.

But the Kul Tiran shook his head. “My place is with my sister. For as long as the...as long as she needs me.”

“We must all decide where our loyalties lie,” Nathanos nodded. It was a sentiment he would be hypocritical to criticize. “I find myself at something of a loss, then. Why should you wish to come here, to Orgrimmar? It involved significant risk on your part. Were you hoping to find a restorative such as I have offered to teach you?”

“No, not at all. That was an unexpected windfall.”

“Then why? I hope you don't find my curiosity uncivil.”

Derek hesitated for a long moment before he spoke. “It was thought that I would have a part to play in our mission. However, events have transpired to make my presence unnecessary. “

“A part in the mission to…” Nathanos stopped, trying to remember what the officially stated objective had been for the king's visit “Oh, yes, the Freeholders. Have you some specific knowledge of their operations?”

Derek's face hardened, and his gaze bored into Nathanos’. “Do not play games with me Nathanos. You know what we have come here for.”

Anduin would have shared the morning's events with his aunt, who had apparently shared them with her brother. “You were brought here to...what...help them handle him?”

“To make him feel more comfortable,” Derek snapped. “We do not lack compassion regarding the spymaster, regardless of his condition. He was ever a friend to Kul Tiras. We owe him the same. Was that him earlier? In the orange shroud?”

Nathanos resisted the urge to couch his answer in uncertainty. He needed to project an image of benevolent transparency. “Yes. What gave him away?”

“I recognized some of the hand signals that you were using as belonging to SI:7. You claim he has not been killed. Why is he sharing Stormwind’s secrets with you? And why did you sent him away before I could speak with him?”

“I think, Lord Proudmoore, that this is a discussion better moved to a more securable location.”

“Where is he?” Derek demanded. “They warned me that you would hide him away and tell me nothing but lies. That you had some purpose in your seeming kindness. I resolved not to judge without evidence. Show me that my belief was not misguided. Where have you sent him?”

“I'm right here, keeping an eye on the three of you.” Shaw melted out of the shadows. The leather straps that made up his Shroud shifted in the flickering light from the torches, giving it an oddly alive look. “As I have been all day. As Blightcaller suggested, let's move this discussion indoors.”

Apparently, Shaw had decided to assert his independence early, Nathanos noted. He wondered what was going through the spymaster’s mind. Something that he had heard from Nathanos regarding the events leading to Thunder Bluff must have impressed him.

“I'd like to see your face, if you don't mind.” Derek gazed levelly at Shaw.

“Still trying to figure things out?”

“Even so. There is a great deal of speculation regarding your situation.”

Shaw's head reared back and twisted slightly to the right. It was one of those characteristic gestures that Nathanos had learned to recognize. Derek’s remark had raised a welt. “I'm not surprised.” The spymaster made a private hand gesture known only to the two of them, which he had taught Nathanos to read as “command me” and another that meant “no”. Shaw raised his hands to his hood.

“No!” Nathanos snapped out the word sharply. “Not here. We will retire for the night, if you are finished with the evening’s entertainment? I hope you still plan on joining us tonight?” he asked courteously of Derek. So, Shaw wanted the waters muddied even further. It was a good strategy. Uncertainty was always an attribute to be desired in one's opponents.

“Y...yes. I should be pleased to do so.”

Among other things, it bred curiosity, which was the powerful lure with which Nathanos hoped Derek would infect his sister.

The irony of that purpose was not lost on Nathanos.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their interlude at the fair, Nathanos, Shaw and Yurig accompany Derek back to their apartment, where Nathanos plans to draw Jaina's brother farther into his influence. But first there's a pesky problem that needs to be disposed of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there may be triggering moments in this chapter. Yurig has a preference for knife play and bondage, and Nathanos indulges him. Nothing too extreme.

The street that meandered through the Drag was uncharacteristically deserted. Most of the city's inhabitants must be at the fair, Nathanos speculated, probably at the various mobile taverns which had been set up, with an assortment of ales at reduced prices. A calculated risk on the part of the fair organizers; drunken patrons were freer with their coin, but they were also more likely to erupt into property damaging violence.

Shaw led the way up the external staircase that ascended to their second level apartment. It was equipped with a roof reservoir to supply running water to the apartment, and Nathanos had insisted that a self-heating tub be hauled up the stairs and installed in the bathroom. He intended to make use of it tonight. Shaw opened the door to the apartment and slipped inside. When Derek would have followed him, Nathanos clasped the man's shoulder, raising a finger to his lips.

He and Yurig waited patiently until Shaw returned, gesturing briefly to indicate they should enter. Yurig went off to the kitchen to make tea, while Shaw lit the lanterns.

“Would you care to sit?” Nathanos gestured to a chair and, after a moment of hesitation, Derek took the seat.

Nathanos wondered what the significance of the man's hesitation was. “Was the chair not to your liking?”

“What...no...I mean, yes. Nice. Very nice. Too nice.” Derek trailed off in embarrassment. “It's just that...I'm not used to being treated as a...welcome guest,” he blurted out. “Where I come from.”

If he were being honest, Nathanos would have to admit there was much of that among the Horde as well. The living had an aversion to coming into contact with the Forsaken, even here, where reanimated corpses walked the streets so openly. Such prejudices would be far worse in Kul Tiras, where the dead only walked in people's nightmares.

Nathanos chuckled. “I imagine the goblins will give this place a thorough scrubbing once I vacate. The traces of our presence do tend to disturb the living.”

Yurig brought out a tray with four steaming cups of liquid. He offered it to Derek first. “Take one of the darker teas,” he advised. “It's one of Thelma's blends. Everything she makes is specially crafted to appeal to the tastes of the Forsaken.”

Derek took it without hesitation and sipped. His eyes closed blissfully. When the cup was half empty, he set it down. His eyes found Shaw, who was pretending to enjoy his tea while perching on the edge of the satin gold couch that took up most of the north wall. “Master Shaw,” he invited. “If you wouldn't mind?”

Shaw rose, closed the window and drew the curtains together. Reluctantly, he stepped out into the center of the room and hesitated for a moment, before pulling back his hood.

Derek pushed up from his chair and stepped forward, staring at Shaw for a long moment. His hand reached out hesitantly and brushed against Shaw's cheek.

Shaw didn't flinch, but Nathanos could see tension in the set of his face.

“You are...still human.” Derek pulled his hand away and the eager, almost hopeful, light in his eyes died. “I…had hoped…” Then his head jerked and his expression smoothed, and he returned to his seat. He cleared his throat. “Thank you for indulging me, Master Shaw. And please, L..Nathanos, forgive me for doubting your words.”

“You hoped I'd be like you,” Shaw said. Something struggled in his eyes, but Nathanos could not identify it.

“You should stay here, with us,” said Yurig, looking at Derek with naked compassion. “Then you would not be alone. It is very difficult to be alone. To be with others who should be like you, but they are not,” he said sadly.

Derek threw Nathanos a look of startlement and worry. His eyes traveled back and forth between Nathanos and Yurig. “I…” He looked uncomfortable.

By the rules of most cultures, Yurig had overstepped in offering Derek a place in his lord’s home, but Nathanos could not find it in him to give the tauren a reprimand. “Yurig knows my mind,” Nathanos reassured him. “He would not have offered otherwise.”

“My lord is generous and kind,” Yurig told Derek earnestly. “He could find a place for you. A place where you could belong and feel safe.”

“He would not be safe here,” Nathanos reminded him. “You know why.”

“You will protect Shaw from her,” the tauren insisted staunchly. “You can protect Derek as well.” He never referred to Sylvanas by name.

“Much as I appreciate your faith in me, Yurig, I don't think it is an option at this time.”

“No,” said Derek. “But...thank you.”

Silence settled over the room. Shaw drew his hood back over his face. “It's getting a little stuffy in here,” he said. He pulled the curtains apart and forced the window open. Derek sipped at his tea, while Yurig went to stand beside Derek. He petted the man’s head, his ears drooping sadly. Derek looked up at him curiously, but didn’t object to the tauren’s touch. Shaw stood, staring out the window for a time, then withdrew to take his place beside Nathanos.

“I believe it’s time to retire to the bedroom…close the window, will you, Yurig?” Nathanos instructed.

Yurig began heading in that direction.

A gentle breeze ruffled the curtain, puffing it out. Suddenly, Shaw moved like a striking panther, leaping across the room toward the window. There was a pained grunt and a man materialized from the shadows. He dropped to the ground, curled up in a fetal position. Shaw pulled a rope from his pocket, yanked the man’s hands behind his back and bound them together. Then he tied the man’s legs together as well.

“Well done,” said Nathanos. _I had forgotten how fast Shaw is._ “Let’s have a look at our spy.” He approached the man, who rolled away and desperately tried to free his hands. Nathanos fisted the front of his shirt and dragged him up to his knees. “Human. Alliance, of course. Is he one of those who came in with the human king?”

Shaw silently inspected the man’s arms, rolling up his sleeves to reveal a plethora of tattoos. His fingers flickered in a sign that Nathanos couldn’t interpret. It didn’t matter. It was obvious that the man was… “Kul Tiran? Of course. Did your admiral send you to spy on me, little man?”

Derek seemed torn between embarrassment, and concern for the spy Shaw had captured. “Nathanos, if I might…”

Nathanos held up his hand. “What were your orders, spy?”

The man’s jaws clenched.

“Just tell him, Gerard,” Derek snapped. “It’s not like it is going to come as any kind of a surprise to Lord Blightcaller that my sister ordered me watched.”

The Kul Tiran’s lips twitched in a sneer. His gaze flickered between Derek and Nathanos. “Sounds like th’ two of ye are getting’ along just fine. Not surprisin’, what with you playin’ the damsel in distress fer him earlier this even’. And now ye’re going t’ head off t’ bed and fuck. Didn’t know you stiffs could do that.” He laughed coarsely. “The Admiral ain’t goin’ t’be happy about her big brother gettin’ buggered by a couple’a corpses an’ a cow.”

Derek shrank down into his seat. If he had been human, Nathanos was sure, the man’s face would have been burning with shame. For a moment, Nathanos struggled with an almost overwhelming urge to simply crush the Kul Tiran’s throat and silence his braying. But he felt certain Derek wouldn’t appreciate such a gesture, however well-meaning Nathanos’ intent. “Derek…you are my guest and I find myself reluctant to distress you but I must ask…surely your sister has other servants and would not mourn the loss of this one?”

“I ain’t nobody’s servant, ye rottin’ pile…” The belligerent sailor dangled from Nathanos’ hand, trying to kick. It was almost comical; Nathanos smothered a smile. The man had absolutely no idea how many techniques Nathanos had at his disposal to turn the Kul Tiran’s brash insults to screams of agony.

Derek appeared to not have any illusions in that regard. “I beg that you will not, Lord Blightcaller,” he said, with one hand raised beseechingly. “Gerard’s older brother and I served together. His mother has been kind to me, even now, even after...”

Gerald was nearly frothing in rage. “Ye’re not fit t’ speak o’ her, ye cursed blight on th’ name o’ Proudmoore!” He thrashed and cursed, nearly causing Nathanos to lose his balance. “Ye got me brother drownt in yer war…”

Clearly the man was deranged. It was annoying that he could not be killed. Or could he? Shaw would know. Nathanos tossed the Kul Turan to the ground at Shaw’s feet, and commanded “Get rid of him.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Shaw hoisted the man by the scruff of his shirt and dragged him out the door. Eventually, the sounds of the man’s cursing faded.

“What odd creatures your sister surrounds herself with,” Nathanos remarked.

Derek’s expression turned uncertain. “Shaw…won’t kill him, will he?”

“Probably not.” Nathanos let his disapproving expression speak for itself.

“I don’t know what got into him,” Derek confessed. “He’s not usually like that.”

“He was very afraid,” Yurig offered.

“He sounded angry, not afraid.” Nathanos folded his arms and wondered how long it would take Shaw to dispose of the Kul Tiran. It mostly likely wouldn’t be the permanent sort of disposal, more’s the pity.

“For many, fear hides beneath rage,” Yurig remarked. “I could have soothed him, if you had wanted to talk to him.”

“He wasn’t worth your effort,” Nathanos told him shortly. They waited in silence.

Eventually Shaw returned. He ghosted into the room, locking the door behind him.

“Shaw,” Nathanos said. “You opened the window on purpose, to let the spy in.”

Shaw shrugged. “That was the only way to be certain he wasn't spying on us once we left the room.”

“How long was he in our room? Did he hear anything of our conversation?” Not that it was significant, Nathanos realized, sifting back through the events in his mind. Nothing compromising had been said.

“He was here when we got back from the fair. Not one of the ones I saw tailing us; he was probably sent to rifle through our things while…” he broke off, his eyes flickering to Derek and away. “He went out the window when we arrived but didn't have time to shut it. Sloppy.”

“My sister is concerned for my safety,” Derek apologized quietly. He looked up at Nathanos. “We all do what we must, to protect those who we love.” There was an unasked question in his eyes.

“Yes,” said Nathanos. “We do.” They all had something to protect, all the players in this turbulent drama. Jaina and Derek. He and Shaw and Yurig. Saurfang and Anduin. Sylvanus… _yes, that is the problem, isn't it_?

“I realized the minute we turned off the lights he'd be back in here. He was obviously an amateur, so I opened the window and left him an invitation. I figured I could sneak out and collar him later.” Shaw snorted. “Didn't expect him to get cocky so fast.”

“I trust he won't trouble us for the remainder of the evening.”

“Of course, my lo...of course not. You don't have to worry about me, Blightcaller, I can do my job.”

As always, Shaw's attention to detail was admirable. An almost-slip of the tongue, to give the illusion that he was subservient. And then a brash reprimand to show that he was not. “Good. Make certain the window is secured. Then take Yurig into the bedroom and prepare him. He will instruct you on what is necessary.”

Shaw concealed his distress over Nathanos’ command well. The man was magnificent, even in extremes. Especially in extremes. Nathanos watched Yurig guide Shaw to the bedroom, his large arm draped over Shaw's shoulders. The effects of his trauma seemed to be easing with time. He would never again be the man he was, but honesty forced Nathanos to admit it was foolish to think that there was any other way the Alliance’s spymaster could have come to belong to him.

Derek's eyes were riveted on the door as Yurig closed it behind them. His body had the unnatural stillness that the living could not possibly duplicate.

“Does the prospect of the ritual disturb you?” Nathanos asked him curiously. He doubted that it was sexual interest that Derek was experiencing.

“It confuses me,” Derek confessed. He gave Nathanos a nervous glance, then looked away. “They talk about you…” He fell silent.

“Continue,” Nathanos invited. “I doubt you've heard anything that has not already come to my ears, so do not be concerned with giving offense. If you have questions, I wish them answered before we begin the process.”

“What's going to happen? Can you explain that to me?”

“I can. But before I do so, can you give me your word of honor that you will not speak of what we discuss with anyone other than myself and Yurig? And Shaw, I suppose, although it's a subject he prefers to avoid.”

“I…” Derek's head fell forward. “No. I cannot.”

“Then I will reserve the right to withhold anything which I do not wish made known publicly,” Nathanos said mildly. Privately, he was pleased that Derek had been unwilling to swear the oath. Had the Kul Tiran felt constrained to hide information from his sister, he might have become resentful. Nathanos’ request had been intended for one purpose; to impress upon Derek the serious and secretive nature of the Gurubashi ritual. He hoped he would be able to depend on the man's discretion. “I do hope that you will be circumspect. I'm certain that you understand how precarious our existence is. Surrounded by the living. Dependent on their tolerance. We stand apart from all the other races. Their very instincts are our enemies, a thing that can never be changed, only kept under control.”

Derek nodded. “I, better than most, can understand that.”

No doubt he was referring to the fact that he dwelt among the people who had no experience with the Forsaken save as enemies and cautionary tales. “Perhaps. But you have the protection of the most powerful woman in a powerful nation. Imagine what your life would be like without that protection.”

“Your point is well taken,” Derek admitted somberly.

“Consider how truths become rumors, and eventually end up in the hands of angry mobs. You have suffered at the hands of your own kind. But there are many others who have suffered far more cruelly at the hands of the living. We are all guilty of cruelties, whether we intended to be or not.”

Derek nodded. “You offered to answer my questions. The ritual?”

“The ritual will gather Yurig’s living energies and transfer them to me. I will take enough to exhaust him, but he will suffer no lasting damage.”

“No lasting...physical damage?”

“Yurig has given his energies to me many times. Did he seem unwilling to you?”

“No.” Derek shifted uncomfortably. “They say that you used a troll shaman ritual to make him into a will-less zombie.”

In retrospect, it was easy to see how that rumor had originated. The Gurubashi openly displayed their ability to turn enemies into mindless slaves, if only for the short few days it took the shamanistic magic to become depleted.

“But,” Derek continued, “after the time I have spent in Yurig’s company I can say without reservation that he is very much his own man.” A smile pulled up the corner of his mouth. “One who is filled with life and compassion. His devotion to you is as compelling as it is unexpected.”

Nathanos raised an eyebrow.

“I beg your pardon,” Derek said. “I did not mean that the way it came out.”

“Of course. Yurig’s devotion is, as you say, compelling and unexpected. But he makes his own choices. He always has, even from a very young age.” Being Baine's cousin and the son of a tauren ambassador resulted in Yurig’s spending less time among his own people and more with the fiercer and less forgiving members of the Horde. His differences, which would have been merely thought quirky among the tauren, were met with disgust and aversion by the orcs and trolls. It wasn’t the fact that he sexuality responded to males instead of females that bothered them, it was his submissive nature.

“Does he...take pleasure in the ritual?”

“He says he does. And I have no reason to doubt his word.”

Derek stared down at his hands, clasped together in his lap. “They say...Anduin had heard that the victim must be tortured to death. Saurfang told him obviously death wasn't required because the tauren is still…” He looked up hesitantly. “Perhaps more transparency would not entirely be a bad thing?” he ventured.

“Perhaps,” Nathanos admitted, although the idea of the orc discussing Nathanos’ private life with the humans made his teeth ache. “I have modified the ritual to suit my purposes. The king’s description was an accurate representation of the original.”

The door to the bedroom opened and Shaw stuck his head out. “He's ready for you. You probably shouldn't wait.” His voice was thick with concern.

Yurig must have asked for a more restrictive binding than he would normally have gotten. Nathanos waited until Derek had risen from the chair, then preceded him into the bedroom.

The only artifacts that remained from the original Gurubashi ritual were a cone of incense, from which curled a wavering ribbon of pale smoke, and a crude fetish fashioned from the earth of Mulgore. The fetish had been made from sacred earth by Meela Dawnstrider, and gifted to Yurig at Nathanos’ request.

Yurig lay on his back in the center of the room. The bed had been shoved aside to accommodate him. His arms were tightly bound, pulled over his head and fastened to a chain that led into the bathroom. It was inconvenient that there were no beams in the ceiling strong enough to support a suspension for someone as heavy and strong as a tauren. Shaw had obviously been forced to improvise.

If Yurig had been human, Nathanos might have used a spreader bar, but tauren legs did not comfortably accommodate such extremes. Besides, Yurig preferred a tight rope binding. His legs were wrapped completely from ankle to hip. Shaw had done a thorough job of it; very little of the tauren’s flesh could be seen, only concentric rings of hair sticking out.

A large swath of cotton was tied across Yurig’s eyes and his ears had been packed with clay and bound with fuzzy pink yarn. The leather pouch had been unrolled, and five knives gleamed on it, displayed where Yurig could have watched it as he was being bound. He was gagged. The tauren’s body was already writhing, his hardened cock swaying up over his belly. As Shaw had been aware, Yurig’s state of arousal, and the restrictive nature of his bindings, made it imperative that Nathanos not delay the ritual.

“There are three elements necessary to the ritual. Lust and pain are easiest, in this case.” Nathanos quickly stripped down to his smalls. Normally he would perform the ritual naked, but he could see that Derek was already suffering from a great deal of discomfort. He straddled the tauren’s thighs and selected a knife, carefully pricking Yurig’s belly with the point of it.

Yurig let out a moan and bucked against the ropes. A tiny spurt of cum dribbled from his cock, but full orgasm was prevented by the ties constricting his testicles. A whimpering sound rose from Yurig’s nose and his hips bucked against Nathanos.

Derek stiffened. He took a step back, and then another, until his body came up against a wall.

Nathanos set the point of his knife to Yurig’s skin and then drew a careful line, barely penetrating. Blood oozed out slowly, not yet enough to bead. “The most difficult component in the ritual, when Yurig is the subject, is the fear,” Nathanos continued in a conversational tone which he hoped would put Derek more at ease. “There is a certain amount of fear inherent in helplessness, and Yurig is able to make use of that, but it is not always easy.”

“But...you're hurting him. Making him bleed.”

“He likes that.” Shaw's voice was strained. “I don't understand it. But I...try to respect his choices.”

The ritual was beginning to take hold of Nathanos, replacing the cool current of reason with the heated flow of need. Lust was the spark that kindled the magic, thick and sweet on the tongue. Pain was the second flavor, sharp and metallic. He dug the point of the knife into Yurig’s belly and the tauren bellowed through his nose, his chest twisting as if trying to escape. This was always the most dangerous part of the ritual, waiting for pain to transform into fear. Knowing that all it would take was the thrust of the knife, deep into the tauren’s flesh, to kindle that fear into something far more real.

Nathanos felt Shaw's hands sliding over his shoulders. “Easy, Blightcaller. Give him time. Don't get carried away.” It was a function that Lena used to perform for Nathanos, another source of friction between her and Shaw. Nathanos made another careful, shallow cut. It was all on Yurig to focus himself in such a way that the magic was convinced of his fear. The sequence of elements had been perfectly suited to the original purpose. Lust was easier to invoke before pain or fear came into play, and fear was abundant once the blood started flowing.

Then it caught, a thin wail of sensation that rose above the pain, more a sound than a taste. All three strands of the spell knotted together, binding Nathanos to Yurig with glowing connections that he could see as well as feel. It was time to choose a vehicle for completion. Any of the three elements would do. The Gurubashi favored pain, and death by torture was the customary climax of their rituals. Nathanos preferred a different path. He quickly freed Yurig’s testicles from their ties. The tauren bellowed and thrashed, deeply into the fever of full rut, and Nathanos was hard-pressed to cling to him. He heard a metallic screech from the bathroom; Shaw must have used the tub to anchor the chain holding Yurig’s arms.

He gripped Yurig’s hips tightly between his knees and bent, taking the tauren’s slickly oiled cock between his hands. Firm strokes, alternating direction, quickly had Yurig whimpering and twisting his hips with need. Nathanos frowned. Normally the tauren would have climaxed by now but sometimes being tied too long meant Yurig would need some additional stimulation. “Shaw. The knife. Let him feel it.”

“Please. Don't make me do that.” Shaw's limbs were trembling and his face had gone white. His expression was frozen.

Too close. It was too close to some of the things that Sylvanas had done to him. If they had been at Stonecliff, Nathanos could have sent him to fetch Lena.

“What needs to be done?” Derek's voice was artificially even and calm.

“Take the knife. Draw the edge along the tip of his cock. Not enough to break the skin, just enough that he can feel it.” Nathanos concentrated on the rhythm of his hands. “Give him just a touch, and then remove it quickly.”

At the touch of the blade, Yurig’s body arched. Nathanos brought his mouth down swiftly, forming a seal over the tauren’s cock as cum erupted, spilling into Nathanos’ mouth and down his throat in a hot torrent. Having neither a gag reflex nor the need to breathe, Nathanos was content to let himself be filled with the tauren’s essence. Life flooded him, spilling into him, bathing his insides with its warmth. Yurig’s energies spread through his flesh. Heating him. Healing him. The pleasure of it coursed along the pathways of his nerves. Arousal rose up, sharp as pain and then shivered him into an immediate release.

Dread pricked him with its needling discomfort. The last stage of the ritual was never pleasant, but it was necessary to seal the energies into his flesh. Nathanos collapsed onto the tauren’s chest, paralyzed as the Light forced its way inside him. Like razor-edged knives in his veins; he couldn't keep from writhing with the pain of it. He felt its destructive intent, its denial of all that he was, but gradually it subsided, leaving him quivering and barely able to drag himself up.

Shaw was huddled against a wall slamming the heel of his hand into it over and over. Rage and helplessness contorted his features. Nathanos made his way across the room.

“I should be better than this,” Shaw hissed. “Damn her.”

“Shaw. It's over. Help me with Yurig. He needs you.”

Shaw pushed himself to his feet. Nathanos sliced through the ropes that bound the tauren, while Shaw freed his mouth and ears and removed the blindfold. Between the three of them, they were able to drag Yurig’s limp form into the tub of steaming water. Drained of energy, Yurig’s body was so cold that if it hadn't been for the rise and fall of the tauren’s chest he might easily have been mistaken for a corpse himself.

Yurig’s eyes tracked them but he didn't have the strength to even flick his ears. “That was a good one,” he slurred. “I'm sleepy.”

“You did well,” Nathanos murmured into his ear as Shaw rubbed the cloth over his body, cleaning it. “You did so well. I know it wasn’t easy. I’m very proud of you.”

“Do I please you, my lord?” Yurig’s head rolled to one side, an ear brushing across Nathanos’ face.

“You always please me, Yurig.” Nathanos stroked the tauren’s ear, caressing the long line of his jaw. There was a string of spittle hanging from the corner of his mouth; Nathanos rinsed it away and brushed his fingers over the tauren's lower lip. “I’m filled with your essences. You are inside me, giving me life.”

“Nobody could give me pleasure like you. You have always been kind to me.” Yurig’s eyes filled with tears. His emotional reaction was an inevitable result of the depletion of his energies, and Nathanos took care to be sensitive to the tauren’s emotional needs during this stage of the ritual.

“I am not kind,” Nathanos murmured, running his hands over the rough hair on the tauren’s chest, rubbing away the last traces of blood and sweat. “I merely know the value of those who serve me.”

“I hear you, my lord.” Yurig’s gaze met his, contentment and satiation clearly evident.

* * *

“Well, that could have gone a lot worse, I suppose,” Shaw remarked.

The three of them had managed to get Yurig out of the tub, dried off and into bed. Nathanos had fed him a restorative tincture that would cause Yurig to sleep for the better part of a day. “I think he should not be left alone tonight. In case there are problems.”

Shaw gave him a sharp look. “What kind of problems?”

“Before Yurig came to me, he had a number of very unpleasant experiences at the hands of some of the less tolerant members of the Horde. He had rather imprudently confided his needs to one of them, and they reacted badly. Sometimes the ritual can bring back memories, which manifest in the form of nightmares.”

“What do I do if he has one?”

“Try not to get crushed.” Nathanos hid a smile at Shaw’s grimace. “Talk to him. Rouse him from his dream. Remind him that he is safe among friends.”

“Right. I’ll do my best.” Shaw disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door.

Nathanos turned his attention to Derek, wondering if the Kul Tiran had been badly put off by the ritual. He gave the man a look of inquiry.

“I’ve…known others who…enjoyed knife play. On both sides of the knife. They’re not normally…” Derek fixed his gaze on the ground, “…pleasant people to be around. Many of them like to play with people who don’t…” He shook his head, then raised it to meet Nathanos’ eyes. “But I can see that Yurig is with you by choice. And that you care for him. I envy you that,” he said quietly.

Nathanos nodded. “You are welcome to spend the evening here,” he told Derek. “If you have any other questions about the nature of our shared condition, I would be pleased to answer them. Or, if you wish, I will escort you back to the embassy immediately.”

“I would not wish to put you to that trouble. I imagine you do not wish to leave them alone right now. And, actually, there is one question that I had hoped to have answered before I return to Boralus.

“Ask, and I shall endeavor to answer it for you.”

Derek leaned forward in his chair. “It was suggested that the Forsaken do sleep. I have never experienced the state myself. Is it possible? It would be preferable to the long night, trying to find something to occupy myself with. I'm not bookish, you see, and it is not wise for me to walk the streets alone, especially at night. They would provide me with an escort but…” He trailed off.

Poor, pathetic creature. He had been taught nothing before he was taken away. Forsaken who never learned to meditate...small wonder his mind was fragmenting. “Yes and no. We can attain a state that functions for us as sleep does for the living. I find that the proper blend of herbs is essential for attaining this state. Come. I will teach you its preparation, and some mental exercises that will allow you to refresh your mind periodically.”

Nathanos Blightcaller, former Ranger Lord of Quel’Thalas led Derek Proudmoore, former heir to the Admiralty of Kul Tiras, into his kitchen to make tea.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saurfang has demanded that Shaw be returned to his king and he expects Sylvanas to give him what he wants. Nathanos has refused his demand, and he is hoping Sylvanas will back him up. However it turns out, nobody is going to be particularly happy.

Shortly after sunrise, Nathanos escorted Derek back to the embassy. He was met at the door to his sister's room by Jaina, who pulled Derek inside and slammed the door shut after giving Nathanos a withering glare.

On the way back he was accosted by a crooked tooth goblin, who handed him a message and then brazenly held out a hand, obviously expecting a gratuity. He gave the goblin a quelling look. “If the message pleases me, I'll reward you,” he growled. “If not, I will have you skinned and made into a traveling bag.” He scanned the contents of the note.

_Nathanos, I have considered the orc’s request for an interview with your pet, and I have decided to grant his petition._

Nathanos could feel the snarl that dug furrows into the folds of his face. If Sylvanas expected him to allow Saurfang free access to Shaw, she and he would have words, he growled inwardly. He continued to read.

 _However, there are conditions. First, you must be present at his questioning.”_ Nathanos was not happy about the wording of her condition, Shaw had done nothing wrong and his former allies had no right to interrogate him, but his hackles began to smooth at the reassurance. _“Second, I require you and Saurfang to meet at Grommash Hold this morning at ten, to discuss the nature of his questions. I am hoping that the two of you will be able to work out your differences without the need of future intervention_.

It was a subtle dig at both of them. And completely insincere. It was no imposition on Sylvanas, she loved setting him against other Horde leaders just to watch the personalities at play. She had admitted it to him more than once.

The note was signed with a stylized “S”. Hardly necessary. Nathanos knew her handwriting as well as he did his own. He crushed the note in his hand. When he looked up, the goblin had wisely vanished.

It was already half past nine. There wasn’t time to go back to the apartment and warn Shaw and Yurig that he wouldn’t be returning immediately. At the thought, Nathanos’ scowl deepened. _When did I become accountable for my whereabouts to my_ …he didn’t even know what to call them. They were more than servants. Less than lovers. Retainers…was a term used by royalty.

 _Mine. They are mine_.

They would be fine. Yurig would be sleeping for hours and Shaw would be watching over him. Nathanos decided to pay a brief visit to the auction house before heading across the commons to Grommash Hold.

* * *

Sylvanas’ choice of Grommash Hold for the meeting wasn’t exactly subtle. He knew she always had a Forsaken spy listening there at all hours from a tiny hidden room behind the throne. He himself had filled that role occasionally, when the conversation was to be particularly sensitive. Or when Sylvanas was irritated at him for some reason and liked the idea of him being forced to squat in close quarters for hours.

Saurfang didn’t bother with social pleasantries. Meetings with him usually got straight to the business at hand. It was one of the small handful of things Nathanos appreciated about the orc. “I've heard accounts of what goes on in your playroom, Blightcaller. They say you suck the soul out of your living prisoners to restore your own energies.” Saurfang had reluctantly taken a seat at the large table, after Nathanos had done so himself. He glared across the table at Nathanos.

“Melodramatic,” Nathanos smirked. “But accurate enough.” _If the orc is foolish enough to give credence to such lurid tales, who am I to spoil it for him?_

“They say that you prefer humans. Ones that worship the power they call the Light.”

“It does have a pleasing flavor,” Nathanos lied blandly. There was nothing pleasing about being ripped apart from the inside. He could anticipate where Saurfang was going with his accusations, and guess what his purpose was, but saw no reason to make things any easier on the angry orc. Let him rant; perhaps he would get it out of his system.

“The Alliance's king shines with that Light, as you well know. I know you are the warchief’s lap dog and crawl on your belly at her command, but I see you better than most and I know that your own skin matters more to you than anything else,” Saurfang spat.

 _And now for the threat_ , Nathanos thought, taking a sip of his wine. It was far too delicate a beverage to be of interest to him, but it gave him something to do with his hands. He wondered what Sylvanas had said to the orc to set him off like this. It was becoming obvious to him what Sylvanas’ intent was; she wanted Saurfang to compromise himself, to declare his attachment to the Alliance king. Was she planning on renewing her accusation of treason against the high overlord? The thought filled him with annoyance. _Just when the dust finally starts to settle_ …

“Whatever Sylvanas may order you to do, if it involves sucking out the soul of the human king, and you so much as try it, I will see your cursed existence ended!” the orc growled. “Even if I have to go through Sylvanas to do it! She will not be able to protect you from me.” Saurfang’s hands slammed down on the table and he brought his head down to Nathanos’, huge tusks gleaming in the flickering torch light and off the many rings piercing his face. “Have I made myself clear?”

“If I had any doubts as to the nature of your relationship with the Alliance's young king, they have surely been laid to rest,” Nathanos told him with cool amusement. He hoped the orc had enough common sense to take the warning. _The fool_.

Saurfang jerked back violently. “There is no relationship,” he snarled. “I want what is best for the Horde. If we must fight a war on two fronts our forces will be ground down and N’Zoth will overrun our world.”

Nathanos steepled his fingers. “Your protests wear thin, High Overlord. Even if your passions have not been returned or consummated yet, the lady is aware of them.” He thought back to the cryptic remarks that Sylvanas made during the war council meeting. _Or at least she suspects. You put his life in danger by championing him so openly._

His warning caught Saurfang by surprise. For a moment, uncertainty and worry showed in the orc’s blunt face. Then he scowled. “If you are threatening to bring this to her attention…”

“Not at all, High Overlord. I have...something of a vested interest in keeping young Anduin safe myself,” he informed Saurfang, his voice even and calm.

The orc’s eyes narrowed. “I don't believe you.”

“You haven't even heard my reasons yet, and already you doubt them.”

Saurfang snorted. “Hmmph.” His nostrils flared. “Fine. Tell me your reasons and I'll decide whether I believe them or not.”

Nathanos leaned forward over the table, wondering if he was about to make a very foolish choice. “Lord Saurfang,” he said in a voice that would barely carry to the orc’s keen ears. “Our words are being overheard.”

Saurfang was still for a moment, regarding Nathanos, his sour expression becoming alarmed, then gradually turning speculative.

“Nothing to say, Blightcaller? That’s what I thought. Get out of my sight. If you so much as..rrggh!” His words cut off with a growl, and he sprang to his feet and strode out of the room.

“Hmm,” Nathanos remarked loudly. “That went less well than I'd hoped. Still, I have all my limbs so I think I shall count it as a success.” He rose. “Let my lady know that I am retiring for the night. I have done as she required, and there is a hot bath awaiting me. Perhaps a good night's sleep will make the orc more agreeable for our meeting tomorrow.”

Nathanos made his way up the teeming thoroughfare that was the Valley of Strength. As always, the press of bodies and the chaotic movements of the city's inhabitants left him ill at ease. He preferred a quiet environment. It was why he had chosen to make his home so far from the city. Unlike Sylvanas, he felt little pleasure in intimidating the masses.

For the most part, the crowd parted before him quickly enough that he was not forced to endure the brush of their clothing or limbs. He thought longingly of his bathroom at Stonecliff, of the huge tub of scented, steaming water, of Yurig’s oiled hands gliding over his body, of Shaw's wild-eyed yelp of outrage as Nathanos opened him up with fingers not yet fully warmed by the bath.

Weariness dragged at his steps as he passed through the strip. _I have carried out her orders faithfully for so many years, but it is never enough. It will never be enough. She will never release me from her service_.

Once, being her trusted Champion was all that he had desired. _Those days are gone. I cannot even regret their loss_.

Huge hands grabbed him and spun him into a narrow alleyway between Gotri’s and a clothier’s shop. “I don't think we're being overheard here, Blightcaller. I'm waiting to hear those reasons.”

He had been expecting Saurfang's ambush, but he jerked against the orc’s powerful grip, feigning surprise and alarm. “Saurfang!” he barked, “Get your hands off me!”

“You don't like to be touched, do you, Blightcaller? Too bad.” The orc’s laughter rumbled in the alley. “I could cut you in half and leave you here with the rest of the garbage. Unless you convince me that the Horde is not better off without you.”

“First, I will need your word of honor that nothing which passes between us here will be spoken of. Not even to your warchief.” Nathanos lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Especially not to your warchief.”

“I knew it,” Saurfang growled. “You have the heart of a traitor, Blightcaller. You seek to betray your warchief. You lying, honorless…”

“Weren't you the one threatening, and I quote, to ‘go right through Sylvanas’ if she threatened your little human king?”

“Is that your plan? Threaten to run to your mistress with tales of my disloyalty?”

Nathanos resisted the urge to roll his eyes. In the quiver of life, orcs were definitely blunted arrows. “If that was my plan, I would not have requested a change of location,” he pointed out. For a moment, he briefly entertained a fantasy of filling Saurfang full of arrows and disposing of the body. But he knew that it would be a counterproductive act, no matter how satisfying.

“Then talk.”

“Have I your word?”

Saurfang regarded him, his eyes measuring.

“However difficult it might be for you to believe, I am a traitor to neither the Horde nor to my lady.” Nathanos gave a sigh. “But something must be done.”

His words surprised a quick flash of understanding from the orc. “If I discover otherwise, I'll stake you out in the hills behind Razor Hill and let the scavengers pick your bones.”

“Of course,” said Nathanos. “Your duty would require nothing less.” He wondered whether the orc would recognize his words as sarcasm.

“Then you have my word,” Saurfang said grudgingly.

 _Obviously not, then._ Subtleties such as sarcasm and irony were wasted on orcs. Even the tauren had a better appreciation for such nuances. “The strain of her position has been wearing on my lady. She never wanted it. It does not suit her temperament or her priorities. Her decisions have become erratic…”

“Get to the point, Blightcaller. I don't have all day.” Then the orc’s eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared. “Treachery!” he snarled. He fisted Nathanos’ shirt and used it to flung him into the air toward the mouth of the alley.

Nathanos barely had time to wonder if the orc’s brain had finally snapped before he hit the ground in a clumsy shoulder roll and came up reaching for his bow, which he had managed to protect as he fell.

A shape materialized out of the shadows before him. Human-sized, features completely concealed beneath his dark Shroud.

“I'll rip your hired assassin’s heart out and feed it to you, Blightcaller!” The orc’s blade flashed in a blurred arc straight at the cloaked figure, who dodged out of the way.

“Don't shoot him!” Shaw hissed. “I can take him.”

“Damn it…Crow!” Nathanos growled in a low voice. “I was about to shoot you.” Shaw began to give ground, moving toward the mouth of the alley.

Saurfang swung his axe again, but this time, when Shaw dodged, he was felled by a powerful follow-up blow from Saurfang's fist. He slammed against the wall hard enough to leave him half stunned, with no hope of dodging Saurfang’s next blow.

Nathanos threw himself between Shaw and Saurfang as the orc’s axe fell. It bit into Nathanos’ torso, only deeply enough to incapacitate him, but, plague take it, when the orc pulled his axe out, _it hurt_. Nathanos collapsed to the ground.

Shaw rolled into a crouch. One hand slipped inside his cloak and he pulled out a slender throwing dagger. With a quick-flip to settle it into position in his hand, Shaw let fly.

The dagger buried itself in Saurfang's thigh.

The orc sneered. “You're going to have to do better than that.” He swung his axe, and Shaw ducked and rolled beneath Saurfang’s strike, coming up behind the orc.

Saurfang stamped down on Nathanos’ leg, and he heard the sound of his bone snapping. “I'll finish you off when I'm done with your assassin,” Saurfang promised and turned back to advance on Shaw.

His steps slowed, then his legs gave way and he crumpled to the ground. Shaw bent over him for a moment before picking up his axe. He returned to Nathanos’ side, dropping the axe next to him.

“Not that it will do you any good,” he remarked, gazing down at the broken bone protruding from Nathanos’ leg. Dark blood oozed from a huge rent in Nathanos’ chest. “Tincture of Dreaming Glory and Nightmare Vine on the blade. Particularly effective against orcs. We have ten minutes. What do you want me to do?”

“Get Yurig. Let's bring him back to our room and try to talk some sense into him.”

“I'm sure that will go well,” Shaw muttered.

“Why were you following me?” Nathanos demanded. His lips curled in a grimace. “And why did you allow yourself to be seen?” If it hadn’t been for Shaw, he and Saurfang might have come to some sort of truce. Though he had to admit, it was unlikely.

Shaw’s lips pressed thinly in annoyance. “If you wish to vent your spleen on me, and I admit you have some justification, I would suggest you save it for later. Even if I had another dose, I doubt the orc will be caught twice with the same trick.”

“I concede your point.” Nathanos allowed his features to soften by way of apology. The orc warrior’s senses were keen, and even if Shaw had been at the top of his game, there was no shame in being bested by the Horde’s high overlord. More curious was why the spymaster had seen fit to shadow Nathanos’ movements at all. “We will continue this discussion later. Go.”

After he had left, Nathanos collapsed back against the wall and gazed at the unconscious orc. Now that, he thought with approval, illustrated the proper application of a poisoned dagger.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting with Saurfang has gone badly wrong, leaving Nathanos bleeding, Shaw twitchy and Saurfang unconscious. Something needs to be done.

Nathanos had never been so grateful for the air of unapproachable threat his status and appearance lent him as he limped after the goblin trundling Saurfang’s unconscious body through the streets of Orgrimmar on the goblin's ancient and wobbly cart. Shaw had fetched a blanket to cover him with, but the orc’s feet stuck out past the bottom of it, dangling over the street. The glances they received were wary, foot traffic parting before them like the sea splitting off the prow of a ship. Any curiosity that their presence inspired was carefully and thoroughly hidden.

When they got to the apartment, it took all three of them to wrestle Saurfang up the stairs. Yurig could have done it easily, but Shaw had been unable to rouse him from his drugged sleep. Fortunately, the height of the buildings hid them from view while they climbed, and Shaw made a point of keeping Saurfang’s face covered and muttering “drunken idiot” under his breath. Just once; the spymaster was nothing if not subtle. When the orc had been dumped onto the couch, Nathanos handed the goblin an extremely generous gratuity for the use of his cart.

The little green man’s eyes widened at the sight of it, then he winked and gave Nathanos a pointy tooth grin. “I've been at the Happy Feet drinking aaalllll day,” he declared. “Didn't see a thing. Never saw you before in my life. Or him.” He jerked his thumb at Saurfang, whose face Shaw had managed to keep covered during the operation. At least, Nathanos hoped that to be the case. He wondered if the high overlord’s footgear was distinctive enough to be recognized by the casual observer. Not that most goblins’ observations were in any way casual.

“And if you are fortunate, you never will,” he told the goblin, who didn't seem impressed by the implied threat, only saluted and marched out the door with his pockets well filled, whistling.

“Phew.” Shaw collapsed into a chair. “I blew a dose of sleeping powder up his nose before we put him on the cart. Do you want me to do him again?”

“No.” Putting off the inevitable was a waste of time. Besides, if they kept the orc unconscious for too long, he’d be bound to wonder what they’d been doing during that time. Letting him awaken right away would help convince him of their non-hostile intent.

“Then he'll be out for maybe fifteen minutes more.” Shaw frowned. “I would like to go on official record as saying this is going to end badly.”

“Noted,” Nathanos remarked dryly. “Find some ropes to secure him with.”

“Oh, because that will make him more inclined to listen to reason.” Sarcasm dripped from Shaw’s tone.

“Actually, it might. It will show him that we fear his strength. Orcs appreciate those little courtesies.”

“Can I gag him, too?” He eyed the orc, and there was something dark and hungry in his gaze that troubled Nathanos. Shaw’s phobia of orcs was clouding his judgement, causing him to overreact to threats, and possibly even manufacture them. _Why had Shaw been in the alley?_

“Not amusing,” Nathanos reproved him. “Do you think you can manage not to get into another fight with him, Shaw?” It wasn’t fair to blame the spymaster for the fight in the alley, technically Saurfang had attacked Shaw, but Shaw should have known better.

“Maybe. I’ll think about it.” Shaw stalked off, presumably in search of rope, before Nathanos could reply.

* * *

“As traps go,” Saurfang stared up at Nathanos with a look of contempt, “this one was not well planned.” His wrists were crossed and tied, and his ankles joined by a short length of twisted rope. Nathanos was fairly certain that if Saurfang were motivated enough he could snap the ropes, but it would delay him enough for Shaw to react.

He was taking a calculated risk, confronting the orc before having a healer in to tend to his own injuries. But there was little to be done for the chest wound beyond sewing it closed, and Yurig could tend to that task. The broken bones, his leg and ribs, were more debilitating. But even if he were completely healed and in peak condition, a show of force was not going to make an ally of Saurfang. There was only one thing that Nathanos could think of which might accomplish that task. “I'm trying to do you a favor, you thick-headed cretin, and you are making it very difficult.”

“A favor?” Saurfang scoffed. “Any favors you offer me are bound to be laced with poison.”

“I had intended to give you a bit of friendly advice, and suggest that if you intend to carry on your illicit relationship with the king of Stormwind, you do it with more discretion.”

“There is no relationship,” Saurfang snarled. “Nothing has passed between us.”

“You know that isn't true,” said Shaw. “He released you from the Stockade. He sent me to tail you all the way to the Swamp of Sorrows, to make sure you arrived safely. And he had agents checking up on you occasionally while you were there. He always wanted to know when you showed up in my reports. Was that nothing?”

For a moment, Saurfang's face was frozen with surprise and dismay. “You. Shaw.” He made an effort to pull himself back together. “Are you human? Or one of them?”

Shaw hesitated, then pulled back his hood.

Saurfang stared at him for a long moment. “So. Traitor, then, and not slave.”

“Neither.” Shaw's expression was fixed and his shoulders were rigid with tension.

“What, then? Anduin…your king…believes that you would never betray him willingly. Yet here you are, carrying out his orders.”

“What I am, is irrelevant. We're here to talk about King Anduin.” Shaw's eyes narrowed. “She has plans for him, you know.”

“She will not touch him!” Saurfang's eyes blazed.

“What are you going to do to stop her? Lead an uprising?” Shaw mocked. “Even if you could, it would be too late. She has places...secret places where no one will ever find him.” The man’s voice was level, but too high. His body twitched almost imperceptibly beneath the shelter of the Shroud. “It was one of the things she enjoyed most, telling me what she planned on doing to my king. In detail. Demonstrating.”

“Is that how they turned you against your own?” Saurfang snarled. “Did she fuck you, Shaw? Everybody knows that's how she keeps Blightcaller on a leash, but you? And then when she tired of you, she gave you to Blightcaller? Are you his pet, like that twisted, fuck-drunk tauren?”

“You're an ass, Saurfang!” Shaw was gasping for breath. His hand was wrapped around the hilt of a dagger that trembled in his grasp. “You don't know what the hell you're talking about!”

“I know that he trusts you and you are prepared to betray him.” Saurfang’s muscles clenched and the rope binding his arms snapped. With a roar of triumph he surged to his feet.

“Saurfang!” Nathanos snapped, “your quarrel is with me, not the human.” The broken bones of his leg shifted and his chest ached.

“It will break his heart when he learns what you have become,” Saurfang hissed. “He wept when he thought they were hurting you.” Swiftly, he stooped to rip the bindings from his legs and came up into a menacing crouch. “Here you are. Without restraints. Flitting about the city as you please. Defending Blightcaller. You could have gone to him at any time. You could have come to me.”

Shaw brought the dagger up as Saurfang closed with him but his eyes were filled with terror. He held the blade as if it were a talisman, not a weapon.

Saurfang slapped it from his hand. He grabbed Shaw by the front of the Shroud and slammed him into the wall. “Well?! What defense do you give, traitor? What did they offer you to betray him?”

“Put. Him. Down.” Nathanos’ bow was in his hands, arrow nocked to the string and drawn. The shaft and barbed head glowed with the energies of Souldraw. The spell was sucking away his essence at an alarming rate; Souldraw wasn’t designed to be sustainable. It was meant to be used as an act of desperation; the completion of it could result in the death of both archer and target. But an ordinary arrow, no matter how skillfully placed, wasn’t likely to stop the orc.

Saurfang's eyes widened as he realized what Nathanos had done.

“Are you insane, Blightcaller?” he hissed, his body going rigid.

Nathanos’ arms were trembling with the strain of holding Souldraw in readiness. He balanced on one leg, swaying, knowing that he would only have one chance.

“Your arm is unsteady, Blightcaller,” the orc jeered. “Your bones are broken. You will only have one shot at me. Are you certain you want to risk it?”

“Take your hands off him. Now. Or I will end you.”

The orc’s eyes narrowed. His hand opened and Shaw slumped to the ground. Saurfang stepped back, watching Nathanos with a slowly widening smile. “You would expend your life force? Over a human? Well, well. It looks like you have tipped your hand to me, Blightcaller.”

 _If I loose this arrow, will Sylvanas reward me? Or throw me to the wolves?_ Nathanos fought with the temptation to find out. Hoping that he was not making a fatal mistake, he released the threads of the spell. The glowing purple aura faded from his arrow and the string of his bow snapped as the spell energy was released. He slid limply down into the chair. The energies that he had taken from Yurig were depleted, and he had been forced to reach deeply into his own life force for the power needed.

Saurfang crossed the room in two strides, grabbing Nathanos and lifting him up. Blackish blood dripped from Nathanos’ chest and he could feel the grind as his broken ribs shifted.

“Only a fool stays his hand in battle,” said Saurfang. “You should have shot me when you had the chance, because you won't get another one.”

Nathanos’ vision began to telescope and he didn't have the strength to break free of Saurfang's grip. _Shaw will be all right. He'll go to his king. Baine will protect Yurig_.

“Any last words, Blightcaller? Before I end your pathetic existence?”

“The hell you will,” said Shaw. He had a dagger in each hand, and the look in his eyes was murderous. “Put him down. Orc.” The word spat from his mouth like poison and sizzled in the air between them.

Saurfang smiled. He let Nathanos slide back into the chair. “Good.” He stepped back and folded his arms. “That's what I wanted to know.” A look of obvious satisfaction transformed his face. He gave a deep, rumbling chuckle. “Looks like you and I have just come up on even footing, Blightcaller. Does she know how close you and your pet have gotten? You stepped in front of an axe for him, Blightcaller.”

“How much trouble would you get in if I poisoned him?” Shaw asked. His daggers were still poised for throwing.

“Let's not risk it.” Nathanos’ head fell back against the headrest of the chair. _This could work out to my advantage, if Saurfang thinks our situations are equivalent. If he thinks Anduin is safe because he can hold me hostage over Shaw_.

“So.” Saurfang ignored Shaw and his knives. “What's your plan, Blightcaller? Keep him hidden beneath the Shroud so nobody figures out you can't let him out of your sight?” There was an edge of bitter longing in his voice.

“I had in mind something of a more permanent nature.” Nathanos pulled the fabric of his shirt together, trying to reduce the seepage. The wound wouldn’t kill him, of course, but it was probably distressing Shaw.

“You plan to kill the warchief?” Saurfang looked disbelieving.

“No. Of course not.” _Would I? If it was the only way to save Shaw_? He pushed the unwelcome thought away.

“What, then?”

The bedroom door opened and a naked tauren wandered out. His ears flopped drunkenly. “Need tea.” He wobbled toward the kitchen, then stopped. “Shaw, why are you holding knives?” He looked at Saurfang curiously, then at Nathanos. “My lord, you are hurt!” He scanned Nathanos anxiously. “I will get tea to clear my head. Then I will fetch the sewing kit. And put on some pants.” He headed off to the kitchen.

Saurfang’s lip curled. “Your household is a disgrace, Blightcaller. So, what is your plan?”

“I'll let you know, if it works.”

Shaw's hands had disappeared back into his Shroud. His eyes tracked Saurfang’s every movement and there was a tense stillness in him, as if he was a drawn bow, waiting to be released.

“Tell your pet to be at ease, Blightcaller. I have no intention of attacking either of you.”

“Is that how you think of King Anduin?” The look Shaw gave Saurfang radiated hatred. “As a pet?”

“No.” Saurfang jerked in denial. He looked stricken. Shame crept over his features. “I...apologize, Shaw.” He shook his head, as if trying to clear it of unwelcome thoughts. He looked at Nathanos. “Earlier, you indicated that you wished to talk with me. I am listening.”

“A little late for that, don't you think?” Shaw had drifted to a position halfway between Nathanos and the door, as if he couldn't make up his mind whether to flee or fight. The color had drained from his face and his eyes had the twitchy look that told Nathanos he was right on the edge of losing control.

“Shaw,” he said. “Please go fetch the sewing kit for Yurig.”

Shaw was not under any illusions as to the reason for Nathanos’ request. He growled under his breath; angry at himself, angry at Saurfang, angry at Nathanos. Giving him a bitter look, Shaw stalked off into the bedroom.

Nathanos rounded on Saurfang. “Earlier, I had planned to confide in you and discuss our mutual difficulties. But you have attacked me and mine, without provocation. If there is the possibility of anything other than enmity between us, it will not happen tonight. You had your meeting with me and have interrogated Shaw. Our official business is finished.” He glared at Saurfang, daring him to protest.

Saurfang sniffed. “Very well. But this is not over, Blightcaller.” He rose and let himself out.

* * *

Shaw returned with the box of thread and needles and a large pair of pants just as Yurig exited the kitchen. The tauren looked fully alert. He accepted the leather trousers from Shaw, pulling them on with a distracted air. Then, taking heed of Shaw's tightly wound state, he held out his hand. “I can repair him. I have done it many times.”

“I’m no stranger to field surgery,” Shaw snapped. “I’ve had to sew myself up a number of times.” He began to thread a needle.

“Forsaken flesh is different,” said Yurig. “You have to watch out for the bad spots.”

Shaw hesitated. “Bad spots?”

“If the flesh has started to decay you have to take the stitches out farther and shape them differently. Otherwise everything pulls apart.”

“How can you tell?” Shaw asked uneasily.

“It feels different.” Yurig plucked the threaded needle from Shaw’s unresisting fingers. “You should sit next to my lord and let him touch your hair while I sew.”

“I don’t need to be coddled…”

“It is not just for you,” Yurig told him. “It calms him to have someone to pet.”

Shaw looked offended at that. Then he deflated wearily. “Fine.” He arranged himself cross legged on the floor, leaning against the chair, and offered Nathanos the top of his head. The ginger spray of hair was slightly flattened from so much time spent in the Shroud. Shaw had gotten creative with a gauzy covering over the open face of his Shroud, in order to conceal his facial hair.

Nathanos was not displeased with the arrangement. He preferred Shaw with hair. And though the man did not like it brought to his attention, having his hair touched gave him comfort. Nathanos combed his fingers through Shaw’s hair, making slow circles. Yurig was right, he realized. It was calming to have someone to pet.

“I’m sorry,” Shaw said. “I lost it. Just the way she would have wanted me to,” he said bitterly.

“The orc is unstable.”

“He’s not the only one.” Shaw tilted his head back slightly, stretching his neck over the armrest. “What are we going to do, Blightcaller? If she doesn’t get what she wants, she’ll come for me.”

“I will not let her take you.”

“What are you going to do to stop her?” His words were an echo of the question he had asked of Saurfang earlier.

“She knows that there are not many things which I would deny her,” Nathanos told him. “But this is one of them.”

“What makes you think she’s going to respect that? She’s the warchief and the banshee queen. She doesn’t let anyone defy her…”

“I will find a way to protect you, Shaw. If nothing else, I will have you portaled to Stormwind.” _I must find a way to give her what she wants. Although I suspect she doesn’t even fully know what that is, yet._

“This is eating me alive,” Shaw confessed quietly. “My nightmares…she’s in all of them. Sometimes when I wake up, I think I’m still…I can’t sleep by myself anymore.”

“Sleeping with Yurig helps?”

The tauren finished with one length of thread, tied it off and started another. As always, the tauren’s work was precise and effective. “You are a very noisy sleeper,” the tauren said fondly. “But you quiet down when I brush your hair and sing to you.”

Shaw snorted air through his nose, a mild look of embarrassment on his face, but he knew his nightmares and Yurig’s solution for them came as no surprise to Nathanos, who often spent the night in a chair beside their bed. “One of these days you’re going to roll on me, big guy, and that will be the end of me.”

“Never,” declared Yurig. “I am a very careful sleeper.” The tauren continued to work on Nathanos’ wounds in companionable silence. Twice Nathanos heard Shaw draw breath, as if to speak, then let the air sigh out without a word.

 _He is so pleasingly transparent_. “Shaw, what is it?” Nathanos’ fingers explored the shell of Shaw’s ear, a habit he had fallen into with the tauren.

“The ritual. Do it to me.” Shaw’s voice was firm, but strained. “Yurig’s tapped out. And we need you at the top of your game.”

“It is a very courageous offer,” Nathanos told him, “but I do not think it is possible any longer.”

“What do you mean, not possible? You can…tie me up like you do with Yurig.” Shaw’s voice was carefully controlled. “You said the lust only has to be at the beginning. You’re…not bad at that part. Then you can cut me…it only has to be a little, right? The fear won’t be a problem.” He gave a bitter snort. “I’m afraid all the time.”

“The ritual requires that you climax.” Enthusiastically, otherwise the benefit to Nathanos would be minimal. “After the fear and the pain. I don’t think you can manage that, Shaw.” He and Yurig had occasionally had failures. Usually when Yurig was unable to successfully achieve a fear that was convincing enough to complete the magic.

“I did it before.”

“That is true, but…”

“You’ll manage, Blightcaller. You’ve pulled things out of me that I never thought I had. Is there any danger in trying?”

“There might be.” Not so much a physical danger, since Yurig would be there to monitor and restrain him if things went wrong, but putting Shaw in tight bondage would be a mistake. “However, I would be willing to try a modified version. No bondage, Shaw,” he said firmly, when the man would have protested. “We will bath together once Yurig has finished making me presentable and my bones have been mended.” Briefly, only half serious, Nathanos entertained the fanciful notion of hiring a goblin illusionist disguised as Sylvanas to make a brief appearance and spark the fear, but it would probably end up getting back to Sylvanas at some point and she would not be amused.

“Fine.” Shaw managed to sound relieved and disgruntled at the same time. “What are we going to do about the orc?”

“I’ll talk to him,” said Nathanos firmly.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saurfang has been diverted. Temporarily. But Nathanos is still no closer to finding a solution that will keep Shaw safe. And then an opportunity presents itself.

“You ended the conversation in Grommash Hall just when it was getting interesting,” Sylvanas complained sharply. 

“The orc lost his temper.” Nathanos let a frown pull down the corners of his mouth. He shrugged. “Hardly the first time.”

His bones had been mended by a Forsaken shadow priest earlier that morning. He wondered if Sylvanas suspected he and Saurfang had met privately. Hopefully, she would never hear about the encounter.

“You told Saurfang that you and he had something in common. A ‘vested interest’, I believe you called it.”

He lifted his eyebrows, as if the answer should have been obvious. “He is enamored of a human. You instructed me to use Shaw to infiltrate the situation…I plan to convince him that I have developed feelings for Shaw. That will convince him that he and I have common cause.” _The best lies are those with more than a kernel of truth in them_. “It should lure him into trusting me. If he is planning anything, he may take me into his confidence.”

“Very well. Proceed. But do not leave your pet alone with Jaina. She’ll take any advantage.” Sylvanas’ lips curled into an approving smile. “Quick and decisive. And so powerful. So sure of herself. She is magnificent.” Then her eyes focused suddenly, slipping away from Nathanos' gaze. Her expression hardened. "For a human..." she amended haughtily.

As Nathanos had expected, Shaw had been unable to achieve the third state necessary to create the binding ritual. His fear was a dull, aching throb of uneasiness, not the sharp, bright fear recognized by the Gurubashi spell. And Nathanos had been unwilling to inflict upon the human the extremes that would be necessary to draw forth that fear. But Yurig had done a very thorough job of stitching him up, and the healing could wait until Yurig’s energies had recovered.

“Have you decided how to take her?” Nathanos asked. It was telling that the banshee had not yet made any definite plans in that direction. Usually she was much more decisive.

Sylvanas avoided his eyes. “It is a delicate matter. Jaina is not to be underestimated.”

Nathanos suspected the banshee was losing her nerve. Or at least her enthusiasm for the project. It was not surprising;there were so many things that could go wrong, especially when dealing with a mage as powerful as Jaina Proudmoore. And once Sylvanas' real intentions had been laid bare there would be no hope of anything but enmity between them. He was tempted to set aside his plans and simply wait to see what developed, but if the situation went terribly wrong and Jaina and the king simply departed, Sylvanas might well turn and savage him in her rage. Or savage Shaw.

“My queen…” He spread his hands apart. “As I'm sure you know, they will be leaving. And we will have lost our chance.”

“I'm very aware of that,” she snapped, glaring at him. “Did you actually have any useful ideas, or did you simply come here to parrot my own instructions back at me?”

“I could have her food drugged.”

“She casts a spell to purify everything she or Anduin eats. We won't catch her that way.” There was a hint of satisfaction in Sylvanas’ voice. A smile played about her lips. "She is a worthy opponent."

It was a thing that Nathanos had already suspected, but it was good to have the confirmation. “Treat her sheets with a soporific. Or perhaps a powder or gas injected through a hole in the wall. There's one behind the picture of Thrall.”

She gave him a look intended to convey that she was well aware of that fact. “They are all well-guarded at night. Even if she was drugged it would be nearly impossible to get her out of her rooms without a fight.”

He could have pointed out that as long as she had him to blame for the kidnapping, secrecy wasn't an absolute requirement. But it was becoming obvious that she had no real interest in discussing strategies with him.

Once, they had often come together for just that purpose. Talking strategies and tactics for hours. Their minds had always built off each other so well. But that was in another life. “I'm afraid I have no further suggestions for you, my queen. Am I dismissed?”

She didn't even bother to answer him, just stared out into space, her mind elsewhere.

* * *

“We're sorry, Lord Blightcaller, we have no idea what happened…”

“The kodo just went crazy…”

“It must have been stung by a scorpion…”

The three goblins wore identical expressions of bewildered innocence, which was a fairly good indicator that they were all guilty. Of something.

“We'll clean it all up…”

“Our rates are quite reasonable…”

“Nothing will go to waste, you can count on us…”

Fruits and vegetables were strewn across the bridge in the center of the Valley of Honor. Apples bobbed gently in the pool beneath the bridge, carried downstream away from the waterfall. Nathanos narrowed his eyes. He hadn't been present when the cart was overturned, so he had no proof that the goblins had conspired to empty its contents. It was circumstantial at best that picking up garbage off the street was their profession. If he confronted them, they would most likely claim that they had a well-developed instinct for such things. And it could be true. Cart-chasers, they called them. Following overladen carts, or carts pulled by unruly animals.

Nathanos frowned. How had this become his problem? “Well, then…” he gestured at the mess. “Clean it up.”

A surly growl came from behind him. “Clean it up! But don't expect to be paid for it!”

“What? But…”

“For free?”

The smallest goblin began to cry.

To a goblin, being made to do a service without being paid was the equivalent of being stripped and forced to run naked through the streets in broad daylight for a human. He wasn’t certain what the equivalent was for an orc, but it occurred to him that it would be useful to find out.

Saurfang stomped past Nathanos and glared down at the goblins. “You annoying little vermin probably caused this wreck. You're lucky I don't make you pay for it for it.”

The goblins looked horrified, then, as the orc’s scowl deepened, scurried off to begin gathering up the scattered, damaged foodstuffs.

Saurfang turned his head to glare at Nathanos. “The king wants to meet with you,” he announced with a surly expression.

Nathanos was tempted to simply agree to the meeting, just because Saurfang was so obviously opposed to it. “Me? Alone?”

A grumble of annoyance rose from Saurfang's chest. “No.”

“I'll consider it.” Obviously, Anduin still wanted to talk to Shaw. Nathanos was fairly certain what Shaw's preference would be.

Saurfang waited.

“I'll consider it,” Nathanos repeated. “If I decide to grant his request, I'll send word to the embassy.”

“He's a king, Blightcaller. They don't just wait around for people to decide to see them.”

“He's not my king,” Nathanos pointed out smugly. “Is he yours?”

Saurfang tensed, hand on the handle of his axe, and Nathanos wondered if he had pushed the orc too far. For moment Saurfang stood, nostrils flared, something struggling on his face. Then his rage slowly drained. He gave Nathanos a piercing look. “Are you really sure you want to play that game with me, Blightcaller? What do the humans call it...chess? Your ‘little king’ and mine? The two most precious pieces on the board, but also the most vulnerable. Not a perfect example; there is only one queen. But she threatens us both, I think. Otherwise you would be taking the advantage she gives you and pressing it.”

Nathanos stood, gaping at the orc in surprise. _Sylvanas underestimates him. So do. I must not make that mistake again. The orc sees far too much, and there’s an actual brain under that thick skull._

“I will tell the king that you will allow him to speak to Shaw. I won't require you to leave the room for it,” Saurfang allowed with a smirk.

A flash of indignation rippled through Nathanos. He glared at the orc.

“We both know what the reality is here, Blightcaller.” Saurfang's lips peeled back in a sneer. “I could bring a couple of squads to surround your den. We could take him. He's good, I'll give him that, but we have rogues too. Numbers win out, eventually. But I do not wish to face this problem alone, and I think you do not either. We could help each other protect what is precious to us both.”

He sounds like Anduin Wrynn, Nathanos thought. _Wonderful. Finally, someone who can get through that thick skull of his, and it turns out to be the ruler of our enemies._

“We will meet and discuss the problem. He has surprisingly good ideas sometimes,” Saurfang admitted. He rubbed behind his ear, a gesture of mild irritation. “Although he is far too optimistic.”

It was as if a great wind had risen, suddenly opening up the dark clouds that had been hanging over Nathanos for months. An idea, like a thin ray of sunshine, pierced his gloom. _This is the opportunity that I have been looking for_. “It sounds like I have no choice. Very well. I'll meet with you,” he agreed, with a manufactured scowl of annoyance. “You bring your little king. I'll bring mine. I will also bring Yurig. You may bring one other as well,” he sniffed. He hoped the chess reference would spur the orc to make the connection that Nathanos had just made.

There was more than one queen on the board. _And I need her in play for this engagement_.

Saurfang grunted his satisfaction.

“It will have to be a place which is secure for both of us. Away from prying eyes,” Nathanos told him.

“Hmm.” Saurfang stood for a moment in thought. “I know a place. An abandoned outpost, a few miles southwest of the city. As soon as you leave the gates head directly for Thunder Ridge. When you come to the first pool, go right. Look for three trees standing together. It was built years ago, but still proves occasionally useful. Roof doesn’t leak, anyway.”

"We will be there," Nathanos promised. As he watched the orc stride away, his lips tightened with determination. _I will end this. Shaw will be safe, no matter the cost_. As soon as Saurfang was out of sight, Nathanos turned and headed in the direction of the closest alchemist.

* * *

“You're insane,” declared Lord Admiral Jaina Proudmoore. Her blue eyes blazed with irritation. “That will never work. She's a homicidal, inhuman despot with delusions of grandeur, but she's not stupid.”

Saurfang gave Nathanos a pitying look. “The rot has finally reached your brain, Blightcaller. A fake rescue? You've been reading too many books…is your library filled with human romance novels?” He smiled contemptuously.

Nathanos hadn't told anyone that the idea had originally been Sylvanas’ and he had no intention of doing so. Not yet. Not unless he absolutely needed to, in order to persuade them.

Anduin’s expression turned...thoughtful. “Lord Blightcaller knows his queen better than the rest of us. Surely, he must have a reason for thinking this would work.” His eyes rose to fasten themselves on Nathanos.

 _Sylvanas wants this. She is obsessed_ … Nathanos ached with the weight of his burden. _It all depends on me. Shaw's safety. Yurig's_. The king had a good heart and a sympathetic ear. Would it be such a bad thing to confide in him? To share his fears and his burdens, and ask for help?

From behind him, Yurig gave an annoyed snort. Nathanos felt the brush of something across his senses, too subtle to identify. It felt like a hand sweeping away strands of cobweb, and suddenly it was easier for him to keep his mind on his objectives.

Anduin’s lips tightened in annoyance. If Nathanos was reading the situation correctly, the young priest had been plucking at him subtly since he arrived, but Yurig had managed to counter at least some of the human’s influence. Not all of it; Nathanos constantly found himself fighting not to agree with everything the king suggested. Or tell him what he wanted to know. _Just keep him out of my mind, Yurig, that's all I ask. If he gets in there and sees what I’m planning, all is lost_.

Nathanos had no illusions about the fact that if the priest chose to fully assert his power, Yurig would be unable to counter it. He simply didn’t have the training. Anduin had spent many years studying with the powerful and ancient draenei priest Velen. Yurig’s education had been less formal, although from all reports he had been a very promising student before circumstances led him to abandon his studies and enter Nathanos’ service. But Nathanos doubted that Anduin would be willing to lay his hand on the table so openly. So far, the priest had been content to nudge rather than bludgeon. “That is quite true,” he told Anduin. “I do.”

Anduin transferred his attention to Shaw. “What's your opinion on his plan, Master Shaw?”

During their discussion, Shaw had remained mostly silent, speaking only when directly addressed and only reluctantly. He had positioned himself so that Yurig was between him and his former king. “I think it's insane. But then...so is she.” He hunched slightly in his Shroud.

“Do you think it would work?” the king pressed.

“I think it's my only hope right now. Unless we can come up with a better plan,” Shaw said bitterly.

“Your only hope?” repeated Anduin. “Is she threatening you?”

Shaw gave a strangled laugh. “You have such a talent for understatement, Your Majesty. You may have heard the rumor that the banshee gave me to Blightcaller as a gift. That's only partly true. Actually, I'm on loan. Until Blightcaller fulfills certain conditions, I'm subject to repossession at any time.”

“What conditions?” asked Anduin calmly.

“That's easily enough fixed,” interrupted Jaina. Her eyes narrowed with intent. “I'm going to send you both back to Stormwind. Then Derek and I will get your men back on the ship and set sail immediately.”

Nathanos surged to his feet, forcing fake panic into his voice. “No! You must not!” Dammit, he thought in irritation. Things were going in the wrong direction. _I cannot allow her to cast that spell_. He rose to his feet, using the motion to hide the movement of his hand beneath the Shroud that he had donned for the occasion. His fingers ripped at the stitches binding his chest. He put a pleading note into his voice. “Saurfang. I agreed to this meeting in good faith.” Timing and placement would be critical. Saurfang was standing between Anduin and Jaina; the perfect position.

Saurfang shrugged. “There is no treachery, here. Nobody is being attacked. It may be our best solution.” His eyes met Nathanos’ and there was no threat or anger in them. “Both pieces will be removed from the board at the same time.”

Nathanos stepped in close to the orc. Face to face. Chest to chest. “She will guess that you and I let them both go. There will be consequences.”

Saurfang grunted. His eyelids fluttered wearily and he shrugged. “I have faced her wrath before, Blightcaller. I am not afraid. Maybe you should leave. Take your...food...and run. You should have enough time to…”

“You are welcome in Stormwind,” said Anduin. “I'll give refuge to anyone who wishes it.”

It was almost a tempting offer. If it hadn't already been too late... Would he have agreed to abandon his life, to take refuge among his enemies? Nathanos wondered. “That will not be necessary. Yurig can go back to Mulgore. Baine can protect him.”

“I will not leave you, my lord. Nor would I be the cause of conflict between my cousin and the warchief.” Yurig’s ears flattened stubbornly. “Where you go, I will go.”

“I'm glad that's settled,” said Jaina, relief evident in her tone. “We'll meet you in Stormwind in two weeks…” Then her brow furrowed. “Lord Saurfang? Is something wrong?”

The orc was swaying slightly. His eyes were unfocused and his face had gone slack.

“Lord Saurfang?” Jaina stepped closer, staggering slightly as she became aware of her own unsteadiness. Her eyes narrowed with anger. “Blightcaller! This is your doing.”

“Not mine. Who did you tell about this meeting? We are all betrayed!” Nathanos snarled, hoping that he sounded convincing.

“Not…telling…the truth.” Anduin slumped sideways in his chair.

“My lord?” Yurig sounded bewildered.

“Dammit, Blightcaller…” Shaw hissed. “This wasn't the plan.”

“Bastard…” Jaina’s fingers wove a pattern and blue energies sprang from her fingers.

Nothing happened.

“Teleport blockers,” she slurred, as she slumped to the ground.

“Your attempt to take matters into your own hands was not exactly unanticipated,” Nathanos told her. He’d had Shaw place the blockers strategically after Jaina had arrived. “I do apologize for the necessity, but you did force my hand.”

“Blightcaller…” Saurfang collapsed by degrees. He drew his axe but couldn't manage to lift it.

Jaina had crumpled unconscious to the floor.

On his knees, swaying, Saurfang looked over to where Anduin was draped over his chair, one arm hanging down and his legs tucked under him. The golden waterfall of his hair hung down to pool on the floor.

“Don't.” The orc’s voice was almost a whimper. “Don't give him to her, Blightcaller. “I’m...I'm begging you.”

“She doesn't want the king,” Nathanos reassured him gently. “It's Jaina that she wants. That she has always wanted. And I intend to see that she gets what she wants. It’s better for all of us.” The gas that was affecting them would make them suggestable. He bent closer to Saurfang and Anduin, lowering his voice so that only the orc and human would hear him. “Forget what I said about tricking Sylvanas. Forget my suggestions to Jaina. Remember only that as we conversed, the mage tried to steal Shaw from me, intending to portal him to Stormwind. Tell Sylvanas of my rage, of my intent to make Jaina pay for this treachery,” Nathanos growled out the words. “Jaina will be with me. You cannot even begin to imagine the torments she will be enduring at my hand.”

There was a soft thump. Nathanos couldn't tell if it was Yurig or Shaw who had succumbed to the effects of the gas he had been concealing in his sealed chest cavity.

“Tell her,” Nathanos whispered as the orc’s eyes closed and he fell.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathanos finds himself alone, moving into the endgame of a gambit born of desperation. An admittedly precarious plan that will either win him the prize he so desperately desires, or it will bring about the end of his existence. Either way, he means for the two men whose lives depend on him to be safe. And he's willing to do whatever is necessary to ensure that safety.

A few drops of a purple lotus extract on the tongue of each of the sleepers insured that they would not wake before their participation was required. Only Yurig was exempt from this procedure; instead, Nathanos applied a dampened cloth over the tauren’s face to counteract the fumes that were still seeping from Nathanos’ torn chest cavity. He left Shaw sleeping on the floor with a blanket draped over him. _This is what’s best for him_. Nathanos tried to ignore the knife edged guilt that shoved its way inside him; an unconscious Shaw would not be asking the questions Nathanos didn’t want to answer. Was he breaking the agreement that he had made with Shaw? It was hard to say. He had agreed to give Shaw choices, to allow himself to be swayed by Shaw’s wishes. But this was a choice that only Nathanos could make, leading to an act that he alone would take responsibility for. He could not allow Shaw to have any part it.

“My lord?” Yurig blinked at him in sleepy anxiety.

“Tie this over your face.” Nathanos handed him a tablecloth that he’d fetched from one of the upstairs rooms.

Yurig obeyed, his large fingers clumsy and slow. He leaned against the wall for support, the drug still impairing his balance.

“I need you to carry the orc upstairs. Do not ask me questions. I will tell you what I wish you to know. Do you understand?”

Wordlessly, Yurig nodded. His eyes were sad. He reached out a hand to brush fingers over Nathanos’ arm, then turned and began dragging Saurfang from the room.

Nathanos hardened himself, tearing his gaze from Yurig and focusing his attention on the blonde human slumped on the overstuffed chair. Unconscious, Anduin looked even younger than he had in previous meetings. His delicate features and long lashes gave him a childlike innocence that Nathanos had no doubt the young king took pains to disguise when he dealt with the demands of his position. _A worthy opponent, indeed_. He had almost derailed Nathanos’ careful plans at the last minute. Yet he could not find it in him to resent the boy king, for all that he wished he could. He lifted Anduin into his arms and carried him from the room.

Ahead of him, Yurig trudged up the stairwell with the orc slung over his back. The two-story outpost was built to house an entire legion, and there were several fairly spacious bedrooms upstairs, furnished with a multitude of narrow beds. Nathanos followed, carrying the king. Anduin was unexpectedly solid. For all the golden-haired boy’s beauty, he was well muscled.

“They will have questions when they wake up,” Yurig remarked. He dumped Saurfang onto a bed, where he lay on his back, chest rising and falling to the sound of a rasping snore.

“Let them wonder.” Nathanos stripped off Anduin's boots and outer clothing, leaving him in his smalls. He draped the young king face down over Saurfang's huge chest and pulled the blanket over them.

Yurig gave him a reproachful look. “My lord. That is cruel.”

“Only to the orc, I think.” Anduin’s arms had crept around Saurfang's chest and a contented smile curved the human’s lips. He shifted slightly in his sleep, burrowing his face down more deeply into the orc’s tunic. Beneath the covers, his hips shifted about, trying to find a more comfortable position. They would both be in an interesting condition when they woke up, Nathanos predicted with a smirk.

“What are you going to do, my lord?” Yurig’s tone was heavy with worry.

“It’s better if you don’t know. If they ask, you can honestly tell them you had no part in this. Go sit with Shaw until he awakens. Then…stay out of things. Do not interfere with the orc or the human. They will do as they see best.”

“She will be angry, my lord.”

“Not at you, Yurig. But if things go wrong, take Shaw and go to the human king. He will be able to protect you both.” If his plan worked, neither of them would need protecting. Sylvanas would have no further interest in Shaw. _If_. He grasped the tauren’s horns, pulling Yurig’s head down to his. “You and Shaw must take care of each other until I return. Tell him it was my…” _last_ “…command.”

* * *

Lord Admiral Jaina Proudmoore lifted her head. She was dangling from the ceiling, her arms stretched up over her head and trapped in a pair of leather cuffs. There were leather straps wrapped tightly over her breasts and hips and between her legs; some kind of suspension harness. She was still clothed, although her cloak had been removed and her skirt split in front and behind, to accommodate the straps.

The room was dimly lit by wall sconces, flickering with candlelight. No windows. Arranged about the room were devices whose purposes were fairly easy to identify. The room stank of terror and old blood. Jaina shivered, her hands clenching in their restraints. _It’s just the cold_ , she told herself. _I’ve been in worse situations_.

She heard footsteps behind her, approaching, pausing.

“Blightcaller,” she guessed with a sneer. "Haven't got the nerve to face me?"

“I trust you aren't too uncomfortable.” The Forsaken emerged into her range of vision, a blandly solicitous expression on his sickly pale face. The red glow from his eyes cast his features into sharp relief. “I left your clothing on so we could speak more comfortably. But it will have to come off at some point, I'm afraid. In case you are wondering, the bracelets clasped around your wrists and the collar on your neck are the reason you are unable to cast spells.”

“I had figured that one out on my own.” Jaina’s lip curled. Aladora Winterfaire’s work, obviously. The blood elf jewelcrafter-enchanter was famous throughout Azeroth for the beauty and effectiveness of her trinkets. “It also comes as no surprise that you are a treacherous, lying piece of undead scum, and you better enjoy your time with me to the fullest because it will come to an end soon and so will you.”

Blightcaller’s lips twitched into a thin smile. “Everything comes to an end, eventually. But you are mistaken. Nothing I have told you was a lie. Against my better judgment, I have decided that I had no choice but to make alliances.”

“You've done a shit job of it, then. I intend to blast you into kindling the moment I have the chance, and I'm fairly certain King Anduin will burn what's left to ash.”

“What a delightful image.” Blightcaller almost sounded like he meant it. “I think, if you reflect upon it for a moment, you will understand what must happen in order for our plan to have a chance of succeeding.”

“Our plan?” She gave him a cold look.

“Very well. Mine. Sylvanas will hardly believe that you are grateful for her rescue if there was nothing to be rescued from. The evidence of your ordeal must be authentic.”

“It’s a stupid plan.” She glared at him. “What makes you think it will work? You’re a complete bastard, but you’re not an idiot. Usually.”

Blightcaller hesitated. She’d never seen him look so apprehensive and uncertain. “Only one other person knows what I’m about to tell you,” he said, finally. “Not Yurig. Only Shaw. For your own sake and that of us all, you must keep it to yourself. But it is something which you need to know. So that…you will truly understand my motives. And her desires.” His brow furrowed. “Since she was changed, her understanding of human motivation has not been strong. She knows only her own needs and that of the Forsaken, and cares nothing for the needs of the living. I believe that can change.” He met her eyes and the glow in them made it impossible for her to read an expression. “It has for me. You can be for her what…” he broke off, and an oddly vulnerable expression crossed his face. "What they are to me," he said softly.

She glared at him, not wanting to see him as anything more than the monster that he was. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“This was her idea. She plans to rescue you from my villainous hands. An odd…courtship, of sorts.”

Jaina gaped at him. Odd was an understatement. It was twisted, and, perhaps, if she were to be honest, maybe a little…flattering. She’d been aware of Sylvanas’ interest for some time, ever since their confrontation outside Thunder Bluff, and if she were to be honest, she would admit that there was something about the banshee that had always fascinated her. But she never guessed Sylvanas would go so far. “So she planned to have me tortured and then…rescue me?”

Blightcaller gravely considered her words. “She did not specify torture. Only the abduction. And she warned me not to seriously harm you. She had planned to take a hand in your abduction herself, but she has not done so. I do not think she can bring herself to hurt you in that way. She knows, rightly, that it is a thing you would never forgive her for.” He bowed his head. “I am her sworn champion. It falls to me to do what I think is best for her. Let your rage for this indignity fall where it is deserved. On me, not my lady, and know this; in the end, she chose your welfare over mine.”

“That’s sick, Blightcaller.” The Forsaken were a pitiful, broken race. Except for Derek, she thought, with a little ripple of anguish. _Light…please don’t let him turn into this_. All the impulses which should have been good had become distorted. Twisted.

“I cannot reason with her any more. Nor can I reach her. But for some reason, you can. She respects your opinion, even as she acknowledges your opposition to her plans. But she will not approach you without…a gift. This was, perhaps, not the best solution, but the plan was originally hers and so I can be certain that she will…respond to it.”

“And I’m just supposed to play along with this…sick fantasy? I’m not sure why you thought I would.”

“You are, and always have been, a voice for peace. It was one of the things I loathed about you, back when I still believed…” He broke off. “Even then, I saw how mention of you could distract the purity of her purpose. I feared you would quench the fires that burned in her.”

Jaina could read between the lines. “You were jealous of me. Of the influence you thought I had on her?”

Blightcaller frowned. “Perhaps,” he admitted, after a time.

“And now you need that influence to dig you out of a pit of your own making.” _Light, there has to be another way than this_. “Ironic.”

Blightcaller’s bloodless lips twitched in what might have been a smile. “Lately, the word has become a staple in my existence,” he remarked.

Jaina frowned at him, not liking the surge of sympathy that she felt, nor the uneasy rapport that he was forcing on her. “I still haven’t heard any convincing reasons for me to help you, Blightcaller.”

“This is an opportunity to bring to fruition the seeds that were planted at Thunder Bluff. My lady has never said so, but I believe that the hope of…this sick fantasy, as you called it…was what saved Baine’s people on that day. To be Forsaken is to lose that which anchors us to humanity, and to hope. Some find a way to restore that anchor. Without it…our spirits are consumed by the darkness. If Sylvanas is lost to the maw of that darkness, I fear that in her despair she will strike out and the world will burn.”

“Don’t be fanciful,” Jaina snapped. “She’s just a single person. And from what I hear, she’s not all that popular among the Horde.”

“You do not know my lady as I do,” Blightcaller told her gravely. “The Horde is not an ally, it is just another chain that shackles her. You have no idea what powers she can call upon, once freed of all restraint. If she felt she had nothing more to lose, the darkness in her would claim…everything.”

“The hell you say,” Jaina muttered. Uneasily, she admitted there might be some truth in Blightcaller’s claims. Sylvanas Windrunner had always been a power to contend with, even when her ambitions were limited to the Forsaken. She’d always assumed the woman’s power was in her indominable will, the force of her personality, but maybe there was even more than that to the Banshee Queen. “So...what now?” she asked, hating the uncertain note that had crept into her voice. “You strip me naked and then we wait around, flinging taunts at each other until she shows up? Anduin will come looking for me long before then, and I’m pretty sure you won’t be able to get any magic jewelry on him.”

“He won't find you,” Blightcaller told her. “We are far from the city. This is my private...lair...if you will, known only to my lady and I. For our own personal amusements. I built it for her. There are protections to keep it from being found magically. Shaw was kept here for some time, I believe.” Something passed over his expression, too quickly for her to identify. He crossed his arms. “In answer to your question, no...that will not be what transpires here between these walls tonight.”

“You're planning on torturing me.” Jaina was proud of the steadiness of her voice.

“Signs of physical abuse must be present.” Blightcaller’s face held something almost like sympathy. “I will...make it as easy for you as I can. You will not be conscious for anything worse than the indignity of being held captive.”

“That won't save you, Blightcaller.”

“That is a chance that I must take. Hate me if you will. To a certain extent, I am in your hands. If my lady were to discover that I had betrayed her plans, revealing her full intent to you, she would certainly end my existence. And then she would kill Mathias Shaw as well. And she would not stop there. My lady does not behave rationally where you are concerned.”

 _Damn him. Curse the undead bastard for making sense in his own horrid way_.

Blightcaller walked over to a small table and poured an amber liquid into a glass. “I think you will appreciate the vintage. One hundred and forty years old, from a Stormstout distillery in Pandaria. He extracted a bottle from his vest pocket, unscrewed the lid and tipped it, letting a few drops fall into the cup. “I'm going to have to administer a strong dose, otherwise you will wake far too soon. There will be…pain.”

“I'm not afraid of you, Blightcaller,” she spat, hoping the lie didn't show in her eyes. “Don't hold back on my account “

A smile ghosted across his lips. “I have no doubt that your courage would prove equally as resistant as Shaw's did. You are a formidable opponent, Lord Admiral. But I would prefer not to be held accountable for the details of the process, though you will, no doubt, hold me to account for the results.”

He held the cup to her lips.

Jaina gazed at him defiantly, expecting to see anger flare in his eyes at her refusal.

But there was nothing except stoic patience in his expression. “There are less dignified ways to administer the drug, Lord Admiral. Please allow me to show you this courtesy.”

Blightcaller was right. There was no point in her resistance. If he was determined to drug her, he would. Had this been a normal interrogation she would have refused to give in, just on general principles, but there was nothing normal about the bizarre act about to unfold. Jaina tried once more to reason with him. “There's no need for this...”

“There is every need.” His expression hardened. “I must carry out my lady's orders. That is our bargain. If I do not seem to be keeping to it, she will take back the gift that she has given me and that I cannot risk.”

“Mathias,” she guessed. “This was her price.”

Blightcaller let his head fall forward in silent affirmation.

“Did he know?”

The Forsaken hesitated for so long she thought he would not answer. Then, “Not until recently. His fear of being taken from my…custody…forced me to confide in him. He knows nothing more of my plan than was spoken of in our earlier discussion today. He will…not be pleased when he learns of my deception.”

The situation must be a living hell for the Alliance’s spymaster. Jaina knew Shaw; he was a man for whom self sacrifice was practically an instinct. He wore compassion like a second skin, concealed, but always present. But the Shaw that she had seen in Blightcaller’s hands had been changed. He twitched at every threat and hid behind the Blightcaller’s tauren. The Shaw that she knew, that she had known, would not have done that. Anduin was right. The Horde had broken his spymaster, and he and Jaina could not abandon Shaw, not after all they owed the man. _Blightcaller can rot and go to hell, but if I have any influence over the banshee, Shaw will be protected,_ she promised herself.

Jaina gave in to the inevitable. She tipped her head back slightly, allowing Blightcaller to feed her the drugged whiskey. It burned its way down her throat and spread warmth from the pit of her stomach out into her limbs. As Blightcaller had claimed, a fine vintage. _This is going to hurt like hell when I wake up_ , she thought with a shudder.

“Thank you.” Blightcaller replaced the empty glass on the table. “Is there anything I can do to make the wait more comfortable, or would you prefer to be left to your own thoughts? I cannot afford to wait. I do not know when Sylvanas will arrive.”

It was…surreal. _If someone had told me when I woke up this morning, that this is where I would end up_ … The one thing she couldn’t figure out was Blightcaller. He wasn’t making any sense to her right now. She’d met the man before. He was a sarcastic, sadistic bastard who took every opportunity that presented itself to torment his enemies. Not just his enemies; anyone. “Why are you being so…” kind didn’t seem the right word. Blightcaller was not kind “…so not the evil bastard that you normally are?”

“My plan is for you and Sylvanas to work out your differences and come to a compatible arrangement. That will give you a great deal of power with her. I would be a fool to court your displeasure any more than I must in order to get the job done.”

Calculating bastard. She needed to keep in mind who she was dealing with. “Everything you do to me, Blightcaller, I'll make you pay for, with interest,” she warned. If Blightcaller was right, she would be able to exert a great deal of influence on Sylvanas in the aftermath of this bizarre farce. And she knew exactly what the first thing she’d ask Sylvanas for was…

“Of that,” he said, face expressionless “I have no doubts. But I have paid far greater prices for things less precious.”

Eventually her head began to swim and her vision to blur and the last thing she remembered as she lost consciousness was the feel of Blightcaller’s cold hands ripping away her clothing.

* * *

“I don't know where he's taken her!” Mathias Shaw snapped. Pain throbbed behind his eyes and small frissons of panic churned in his gut every time the orc looked at him or spoke. “This wasn't the plan we had talked about.”

“So the corpse has played you,” Saurfang rumbled. “I’m surprised. You have the reputation for being better than that.”

“I'm not exactly at the top of my game,” Mathias said wearily. “Maybe this is what he planned all along. Maybe his plans changed when he thought I was going to be stolen from him.”

“He considers you his property?” Anduin’s eyes were soft with pity.

“Shaw was taken as a prisoner of war,” Saurfang reminded the king. “By our laws, that makes him property.”

“But do you think of yourself as his property?” There was a tightness about Anduin’s eyes.

“What he thinks doesn’t matter,” Saurfang grunted. “Blightcaller is holding his leash.”

“Who knows what Blightcaller thinks?” Mathias shook his head, fighting the urge to pull the hood of his Shroud over his head and just shut them both out. He didn’t want Anduin’s pity and the orc’s belligerence was rubbing him raw. Blightcaller was gone, and he had taken Proudmoore with him. Everything was going to hell and there was nothing he could do. He felt Yurig’s body pressed against his back. There was nothing he wanted more than to curl up in the comfort of the tauren’s arms, but he wasn't about to let Saurfang or Anduin see that particular weakness.

“At least my lord tried to make us all comfortable before he left,” Yurig remarked. “Were you both comfortable?” he asked with a look of oddly inquisitive innocence.

Anduin’s eyes widened, and a guilty look came over his features. He quickly found something of interest to examine on the arm of his chair.

“Comfortable.” Saurfang snorted explosively, from flared nostrils. “No. I wouldn't call it that.” He muttered something under his breath.

Anduin’s pale neck flushed a delicate shade of pink.

 _What was that about_? Mathias made a mental note to ask Yurig later. When he had woken from his drugged sleep, he’d been tucked into a comfortable, warm bed with the tauren sitting at his side, guarding him, and Yurig had showed no signs of having been asleep. Something must have happened, something to do with Saurfang and Anduin. He had no doubt that Yurig’s remark had been intended to derail their questions from Mathias.

Saurfang made an angry noise. “Enough talk. I am going to see the warchief, to demand that she track down her dog and bring Lady Proudmoore back.”

“Please don’t anger her,” Anduin bit his lip. “She may be the only one who can find Jaina. We need her help. Blightcaller was furious. He’ll hurt her. We have to stop him,” his voice had begun to rise.

Mathias didn’t remember Blightcaller being particularly angry, though, come to think of it he had seemed to be playing that up. He wondered when he had started being able to read Blightcaller that intimately. “That doesn’t make sense. He won’t actually hurt her. The plan was to…”

Yurig’s hand closed around his wrist. Hard. “My lord was very angry,” the tauren rumbled. “He thought the mage was going to take Shaw away from us.”

“But why?” Anduin’s voice was anguished. “I offered you all sanctuary.”

“My lord believed that when Shaw was back among his people, he would abandon us.”

“So it was a control issue,” Saurfang snorted. “He thought someone was going to steal his toy and he wasn’t about to let that happen. I'm sorry,” he said, turning to Anduin. "I've failed y...failed in my responsibilities. I should have seen this coming."

Why was Yurig trying to paint Blightcaller in such terrible colors? The Forsaken must have given the tauren special instructions regarding what to say. But that didn’t explain Anduin’s single minded belief that Blightcaller actually intended to torture Proudmoore. Did they think Blightcaller was stupid?

“I’ve tried to search magically, but either my spells are being blocked or…” Anduin collapsed into his chair miserably.

“He won’t have killed her yet,” Saurfang knelt beside the king, trying to reassure him. “Blightcaller likes to toy with his enemies. He always has.” He looked directly at Shaw, nostrils flaring. “Just ask Shaw. You were his enemy once. It must give him satisfaction to see you crawling to his hand.”

Mathias made no attempt to conceal the rage that bled out of him at the orc’s cruel jab.

“Shaw,” Yurig’s quiet whisper carried to his ears alone, “I heard my lord talking to them before they fell asleep. He told them to forget what he had said about the plan and I think the drug has caused them to do that. Do not speak of it. He means for them to think these untrue things about him. They will be the ones to carry word of this to her.”

“I should be the one to talk to her,” Anduin said. “I don’t mind begging, if it will save Jaina. If it will persuade the warchief to help. It will amuse her to see me beg, you know it will, and she’ll agree to help.”

Saurfang gave him an irritated look. “You will not go alone,” he growled. “And we should take that with us as well,” he said, pointing at Mathias.

Mathias’ hands found the hilts of his daggers, beneath his Shroud. He struggled to keep his emotions under control. Terror and rage battled for dominance as he reminded the orc, “I took you down once. Come at me and we'll see if it was just a fluke.”

“Why would we bring Master Shaw with us?” Anduin asked.

“Because I don't trust him not to sneak off and warn his master,” Saurfang sneered. “We should take both of them. They're probably in on it. They’re both his dogs. The dogs of a dog.”

Anduin rose and placed his hand on Saurfang's shoulder. “We should go. Now. Every moment that we delay is another moment that Jaina is in Blightcaller’s hands. Leave them...what could they possibly tell him that he couldn't already guess for himself?”

The implication that he would run off to warn Blightcaller, that he was the traitor that the orc had named him, stabbed Mathias deeply. Like a knife applied to a wound which had not yet scabbed over. “Your Majesty, please…”

“Unless you have a way of knowing where he has taken Jaina and are prepared to give us that information…” Anduin paused for a moment before continuing coolly, “then your presence is not required, Master Shaw.”

 _I’m not a traitor_ , Mathias wanted to tell him, but there was nothing he could say to defend himself. He wasn’t even certain if it were true anymore. “As Your Majesty wishes.”

“Am I, Mathias? Still your Majesty?” Anduin’s gaze bored into him deeply.

Mathias felt paralyzed. No words presented themselves to answer the king’s question. He didn’t know anymore.

Yurig hugged him tightly as Anduin turned on his heel and followed Saurfang from the room.

* * *

All in all, it was very like an ordinary interrogation, Nathanos thought as he worked. Without the screaming, the cursing, the sobbing, the begging. The actions to be carried out were routine. Long after he had finished, the smell of burnt flesh and the coppery scent of blood lingered in the room like an exotic perfume. The familiarity of it gave him comfort, although the lack of screaming had left the act feeling somehow...incomplete.

Sylvanas made her entrance in a truly spectacular fashion, as he had anticipated, giving him plenty of warning. Her impatience surprised even his expectations. He'd had Proudmoore in his harness only a few hours before the banshee came for her. He quickly administered the sleeping drug’s antidote to Jaina before Sylvanas could see what he was doing. The human came to agonized and screaming consciousness just as the roof caved in beneath the force of Sylvanas’ arrival, debris blasted in a circular pattern that left Jaina and Nathanos untouched.

Immediately the banshee swooped down to Jaina’s side, unbuckling and releasing her from the restraints. Jaina collapsed to the ground, keening and writhing with pain from the burns, broken bones and cuts that Nathanos had inflicted upon her. Enraged, Sylvanas let loose with the full force of her banshee scream, smashing Nathanos into the stone wall. He heard the crack of his spine breaking at the impact and consciousness left him.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blightcaller's plans have come to fruition, leaving Shaw and Yurig drifting, without an anchor or a firm heading. Uncertain of Blightcaller's fate, rejected by their former allies, they must find a way to move forward, relying only on each other.

“I do not know what my lord would wish me to do,” Yurig said mournfully. He sat cross-legged on the edge of the shallow pool outside the gates of Orgrimmar, within sight of Jaggedswine Farms. The water was murky, stirred up by the churning feet of dozens of drinking kodos.

The numerous swarms of people attending the fair had thinned, and the vendors had begun to pack up their tents and disassemble their booths. Wagons laden with goods rumbled past, sending brick-colored clouds into the air. Yurig’s body was coated with the reddish dust.

“Have you heard anything yet?” Mathias fanned himself, sweating under his Shroud. It occurred to him that there was no longer any point to wearing the garment. Everyone who he had wanted to avoid would recognize him when he was with Yurig, regardless of what he was wearing. Well, at least it kept off the dust.

“No. I am afraid, Shaw.” Yurig huddled at the lip of the pool. His image wavered for a moment on its surface, then dissolved in the ripples as a kodo waded past. “He would have returned by now if he were able. Something bad has happened. I can feel it.”

There were two possibilities that Mathias could imagine. Either he was still with Jaina, waiting for Sylvanas to find him, or something had happened to Blightcaller. Yurig was right, he would have returned if he were able. “Should we go back to Stonecliff to wait for him?” It was a tempting thought. _When did that place start sounding like home to me?_

“I want to be here if my lord needs me.” Yurig dipped his hand into the water, swirling the muddy silt about. “I have asked the Earthmother where he is but she has not answered me.”

An orc in tattered shorts hauled a pair of young kodos through the pool. Three muddy troll children were herded out of the water by their irate father. A Forsaken in an azure blue shroud stood on the edge of the pool, looking down as if seeking answers from its murky depths. Two tauren strolled by, huge baskets banging against their backs with every step.

“Maybe we should go to the embassy. Derek might know what's going on. If...if Jaina was found.”

“He will be angry,” Yurig said sadly. “He will be very angry with my lord. And with us.”

Shaw scooted over so that he was pressed up against the tauren’s side. “It will be okay, big guy. We still have each other, right?” He felt Yurig’s hand stroking the top of his head and he peeled back his hood, reveling in the cool air on his face. His hair had grown long enough that he was pulling it back into a horse tail. _Flynn would have loved it. Me with long hair._

Grief sliced ribbons from his heart. _Flynn, lost_. It was still too much to bear. He wondered what ship had taken the _Middenwake’s_ slip in Boralus Harbor. The one Flynn had fought so hard to keep when his world had suddenly been invaded by the Alliance navy.

The one Shaw had always pulled strings to keep assigned to him.

A shadow passed overhead and Shaw looked up. Dark clouds were rolling over Orgrimmar. In the distance he could see the slightly misty smudge beneath the clouds that announced rain approaching. He had the sudden, almost overwhelming, urge to stand up and start walking, straight into the rain. To just stroll out into the wilderness of Durotar and not stop.

Maybe he could spend some time on the beach, watching the waves wash up on the sand. Do a little beachcombing, or dig for clams. _Look for the air holes, Mattie. See... here's where you want to be diggin’_. His chest was so tight it ached. He wanted to feel the ocean breeze on his hair, the spray on his face. _Flynn…why? After everything else that has been taken from me, how could I have lost you, as well?_

His eyes stung and he closed them. “Has Baine returned yet?”

“I do not know.”

“Is there someone else who might have heard something? Does Blightcaller have friends in the city?”

“I do not think so,” Yurig said sadly. “He does not like people.”

“Did he say anything else, before he left? Anything about where he was going? Or what we were supposed to do?”

“No. Just that we were to look after each other,” Yurig said wistfully. “I will keep you safe, Shaw. I know that you are afraid of her.” He leaned forward and thrust his arm down into the pool. It came up with a handful of wet clay that glistened on his three-fingered hand. He began painting streaks of red earth on his face and chest. I will invoke the Earthmother's protection for us. She will listen and tell us if she…” the loathing in Yurig’s voice left no doubt as to the object of that last pronoun “…is coming for us.”

“Yurig, if she comes after me, you need to stay out of her way. There's nothing you can do.”

“I will never leave you to face her alone,” Yurig declared, as close to anger as Mathias had ever seen the tauren. “You are afraid of becoming Forsaken. The Earthmother can help. She does not allow her children to be taken from her that way.”

Yurig’s faith in his deity was, no doubt, a great source of comfort to him. Mathias doubted there was actually any help to be had from that quarter, though. If the Light couldn't save you from becoming a walking corpse, neither could the Earthmother. But if the idea gave Yurig comfort, Shaw wasn’t about to spoil that with his doubts. “We should leave the city,” he said. “Buy a couple of Mulgore-bred kodos who can handle a long journey, head down to Crossroads. From there we could even go to Ratchet. Have you ever been to Booty Bay? It's not such a bad place…” _Have another drink, Mattie. Tomorrow I'll take you out and show you around. Buy you an eye patch and a parrot._

_You’re not buying me a parrot, Fairwind…_

“The Gurubashi live there.” Yurig gave a little shudder. “I do not think I would like to meet them. I do not like their ritual.”

“You mean…the same ritual Blightcaller performs on you?”

“It is different when my lord does it.”

Mathias patted the tauren’s knee.

“If you wish to leave the city,” there was only the slightest hint of reproach in Yurig’s voice, “then you should go to your king.”

“If...the worst has happened, I don't think we'd find a welcome there anymore,” Mathias told him, his throat tight with regret.

“Blightcaller won't.” The Forsaken in the blue shroud had drifted closer. “But you might. As long as you're willing to swear you had no part in his plans. And as long as I'm able to verify your oath.”

 _I must be more distracted than I realized_ , Mathias mused. _Never even noticed him_. “King Anduin. What news do you bring?” _Were we followed here? We must have been. This isn't good. I can't afford to be so badly off my game right now. Not when we might have to make a run for it._

“Jaina is alive. If that was of any concern to you.” Anduin’s voice was cold. “Sylvanas was able to discover where Blightcaller had taken her and rescue her before he managed to kill her.”

“My lord would not have killed her,” Yurig said softly. Mathias heard pain in his voice.

“Your faith in your master is as misplaced as it is offensive. Sylvanas called me in to heal her. You have no idea what he did to her,” Anduin hissed. “Another hour and she would have been dead.” He took a step forward. “Do not dare to defend him to me, tauren!”

Yurig hung his head, misery in every line of his body. Blightcaller had commanded Yurig not to speak of his real motives, and no matter how much he wanted to, the tauren wasn’t going to disobey. And then the rest of what Anduin had said hit him. _You have no idea what he did to her._ “Is she going to be all right?” _Blightcaller, what have you done_? Mathias wondered what the banshee would do to Blightcaller as ‘punishment’. It would be cruel, he was certain, even though her Champion had only been following Sylvanas’ orders.

“I healed her physical wounds,” Anduin said in clipped tones. “As to the rest...I don’t know. She doesn’t bear you any ill will. Even in her pain, and after all your master had done to her, she told me to find you and make sure…” his voice choked off and he struggled with the emotion. “I've come to escort you to the embassy. You're to be given rooms there, until Jaina is well enough to travel. At that time, you will be removed to Stormwind and Yurig will be fetched by Baine.”

There was no point in arguing with Anduin right now, Mathias realized. “I suppose...that’s for the best,” he made himself say. He'd have to find out what Yurig wanted to do. At worst, he could go to ground and when Sylvanas finished punishing Blightcaller and sent him home to Stonecliff, the tauren could be fetched back from Mulgore. And Mathias knew he wouldn't have any trouble getting away from his guards at the embassy.

If that's what he wanted. _What the hell am I doing? I could go home_.

Home to Stormwind, maybe to Westfall, to lose himself in the hills south of Sentinal Hill. Use an old wound to distract from the pain of the new. Or to Redridge. He had friends there, of a sort. Comrades in arms. Keeshan kept a cabin in the upper reaches of the hills behind Lakeridge. He’d given Mathias a standing invitation to drop by any time.

But not to Boralus. Never again to Boralus.

The past few months hadn't been half bad. When he wasn't being a complete bastard, Blightcaller was almost...pleasant. The man had a keen mind and an appetite for learning. His library was exceptional, and he was well acquainted with every book in it. And he had kept up his part of their agreement. Changes had been made. All the human prisoners of war had been transferred to better quarters and were now being given adequate food and medical care.

 _I’m making a difference here_. It wasn’t on the same scale as he was used to, being spymaster for the Alliance, but he had no illusions about his new limitations. This was something he could manage. And Blightcaller had no expectations for his performance, which was what he needed right now.

Now that Jaina and the banshee were, at least, talking...maybe peace between Horde and Alliance was within their grasp. It was just a tide-spawn shame that Blightcaller’s part in it could never be openly spoken of. He'd be the villain in the story. Disgraced. Magnanimously forgiven, eventually. Saurfang and Anduin would despise him, though that probably wouldn’t bother him much.

 _He knew this would happen_. Would Sylvanas go so far as to execute him for his crimes? That would certainly ensure that her original plan would never be uncovered.

 _That would leave me as the only one who knew what had really happened_. The realization lodged like ice in the pit of Mathias’ stomach.

“Thank you for your generosity, Majesty,” he forced humility into his voice. “We are in your hands.” _Damn you, Blightcaller. Don’t die_.

* * *

“They cannot be held responsible for what Blightcaller did,” Anduin argued. The four of them sat in one of the many private lounge rooms at the embassy, where Mathias and Yurig had been “guested” for the past three days. Saurfang was angry and hostile, the king less so. Mathias wondered what had changed Anduin’s attitude so much.

“The tauren does whatever Blightcaller tells him to,” Saurfang snarled. “If Blightcaller had asked him to hold her down while he tortured her, he would have done as he was told.”

Yurig huddled on a seat too small for his huge frame, arms falling down to his sides and ears clenched miserably against his head. He gave no sign of what response he would have given to Saurfang’s accusation, and Mathias wondered if what Saurfang said was true. Certainly, it would have been a terrible conflict that would have been ignited inside the tauren’s gentle heart. He didn’t like to see people hurt. But he was absolutely devoted to Blightcaller.

Mathias rather thought that it was a moot point. Blightcaller would never have put Yurig in that situation.

“Blightcaller gassed them, the same way he incapacitated us,” Anduin pointed out. “We can only judge people for what they've done, not what we suspect they would have done, had things turned out differently.”

Saurfang gave a discontented growl and folded his arms, glaring at Mathias and Yurig.

So far nobody had been willing to give them any news of Blightcaller. Mathias wondered how angry Sylvanas had been. She and Jaina apparently had been spending a great deal of time together, though the few times he had encountered her, her expression had ranged between distracted and grim. Mathias hoped they weren't bonding over plans for Blightcaller’s execution.

Anduin hadn't renewed his offer of sanctuary, but neither had he withdrawn it. He and Saurfang had become...close. Never openly touching, but Mathias knew Anduin well enough to see how aware he was whenever the orc walked into a room. How the two of them always seem to casually drift together.

Mathias felt the tingling awareness that he was being watched, and he looked up to find Anduin's keen blue eyes regarding him steadily. Shaw returned his gaze, but said nothing.

“Did you know what he was going to do?” Anduin asked.

There was no longer any point in keeping that particular secret. “I knew he planned to pretend to kidnap Jaina.” Shaw lifted his chin, inviting his king to make of it what he would. _What's done is done_. “And I know why. But I didn't know he planned to actually hurt her.”

Anduin’s eyes were troubled. “Jaina told me as much. She said that Blightcaller was insane, not murderous. I'm not sure if that's a recommendation or not.”

“What's going to happen to him?” Mathias asked bluntly.

“I don't know.” Anduin shook his head. “They haven't told me anything.”

“Are Yurig and I being charged with anything?”

Anduin looked between Mathias and Yurig. Mathias hadn't made any secret of the fact that he spent his nights in the tauren’s bed, and he didn’t really care that everyone was assuming he was having sex with Yurig. Unsurprisingly, neither Anduin nor Saurfang had commented on the fact. “No,” said Anduin. “But you need to stay here at the embassy for now.”

Mathias didn't bother to hide his irritation. He hated Orgrimmar, hated the torrent of beady-eyed orcs that flows through its streets, the ugly curved metal thorns and blood-red roofs, the dust and towering stone walls that closed in from all sides. It was alien and hostile. It made him feel trapped. Stonecliff at least looked like it might have been built by a human and the Forsaken who came and went inside its walls had all been human at one time.

He knew many of their stories by now. Who they had been before undeath. What they had left behind to come here. It was a painful realization that he had come to, how well he understood them, what it felt like to be changed by something you had no control over. To be forced into a new life. Looking back, knowing everything that you had loved was still there, but you could no longer be a part of it.

He rose. “As Your Majesty commands. Come on big guy, it's time for our bath.” He went to lean against Yurig, petting him surreptitiously until Yurig’s ears lifted a fraction and he gave a soft sigh.

The tauren heaved himself to his feet, towering over everyone in the room. His gaze met Saurfang’s for a long moment.

Mathias brushed his fingers down the tauren’s hip, then headed for the door, with Yurig following silently in his wake.

“You take a lot of baths,” Anduin remarked, eyes bright with something that might have been curiosity, or envy.

“You and Lord Saurfang should try,” Yurig offered solemnly, without his usual enthusiasm. He was melancholy; not even the prospect of a bath had perked up his drooping ears.

He wouldn't be himself until they had Blightcaller back.

The orc scowled at Yurig.

“I heard that there was a hot spring bath in the Valley of Honor,” Anduin remarked with a wide-eyed innocence that didn't even fool the orc.

“It's not safe,” Saurfang growled. “Too public.”

“Surely we'd be safe if we went there with the high overlord,” Anduin insisted, propping up his head with his arm and looking up at Saurfang with his thick lashed blue eyes.

Saurfang stared at him as if hypnotized. “I'll... I'll see what I can do,” he promised as Mathias let himself and Yurig out the door.

* * *

The Soothing Salt Spa had obviously been completely emptied before Mathias, Yurig and Anduin arrived. There was a desk just inside the front door, with a goblin sitting at it, his oversized feet propped up and a book in his hands. At the sight of his customers, he sat up hastily and hid the book away. “Spa’s closed. Sorry. Come back tomorrow,” he told them glumly.

“I’m sorry, there must have been a mistake?” Anduin’s brows furrowed. “The high overload told us to meet us here...”

“Oh. Yeah…you’re with him? Okay, go on in,” the goblin said listlessly. “Towels on the right, soap’s by the water, sponges in the baskets.”

“Thank you,” said Anduin. Then he took out a gold coin and placed it on the counter. “I hope this will compensate you for the inconvenience of our visit.”

He and Mathias and Yurig headed for the door marked “Pool”. As Mathias stepped through, he heard a startled “Thrall’s balls!” and he looked back to see the goblin staring incredulously after Anduin, clutching the gold coin with both hands. He smiled. Anduin had a habit of endearing himself to people wherever he went, and he had an instinctive feel for what made people happy. He had always been that way.

The spa room was large, perhaps eight yards wide. The floor was composed of dark wood, water-stained and worn smooth. Windows ringed the upper areas of the high walls, letting in plenty of indirect light. The pool itself was light blue, edged with ceramic tiles of deep azure. Saurfang was already in the water, reclining against the side of the pool, his powerful muscles displayed above its glassy surface. He looked up at their approach, his eyes fastening on Anduin. His long, pale braids trailed down into the water. Scars decorated every surface of his green skin. His piercings and rings gleamed in the dim light.

He was also naked. A stab of pure panic forced the breath from Mathias’ lungs, seeing what lay beneath the clear water.

Oblivious, Anduin stripped off his clothing and slipped contentedly into the pool, settling himself with a shiver of pleasure. His pale body looked almost like a child's next to the hugely muscled orc. The faint scars that latticed his body faded as his skin flushed with the heat.

Mathias couldn't look away. He imagined the orc, pounding into Anduin’s body, hands cruelly gripping the boy’s slender thighs, cries of pain and terrified pleas of _please stop, please stop_. The blood thundered in his ears and for a moment Mathias was afraid he was about to vomit.

Yurig positioned himself so that his body blocked Saurfang from Mathias’ view, and began shedding his loincloth and harness. “Lord Saurfang is not like those others,” he murmured to Mathias in a voice that did not carry. “He would never do anything so dishonorable.”

 _I don’t care_. Mathias closed his eyes. He felt Yurig’s hot, sweet breath on his face, the brush of Yurig’s fingers over his ear.

“Open your eyes,” Yurig whispered. “Let them show you what is there now, not what they have seen in the past. It is safe to let go of your fear. You do not need it to protect you anymore.”

Reluctantly, Mathias opened his eyes. Yurig was right. He needed to get control of his fear, to deal with it and put it away. If he couldn’t, it would cripple him. He skinned out of his shirt, boots, trousers and smalls. It helped for him to concentrate on Yurig. The smell of the tauren enveloped him and his racing heartbeat gradually returned to normal. Together, they entered the water. It was hot, blissfully hot, but the faint stink of rotten eggs spoiled the pleasure of the experience. It was a characteristic of all natural hot springs in the area, as the heated water dissolved the sulfur.

“I saw Admiral Proudmoore today,” Yurig murmured. “She was in the receiving room, talking to the king. They did not speak to me.”

Mathias could feel the tension in Yurig’s body. His hands trembled slightly as his fingers stroked through Mathias’ hair in a slow, steady rhythm. Mathias curved his hand around the tauren’s bicep.

“I'm afraid, Shaw,” Yurig admitted miserably. “I want to go home. I want my lord back and I want to go home.”

“I know. I...miss him, too.” Mathias had merely said the words to reassure Yurig, but, strangely, they didn't feel like a lie. “We'll get through this, and eventually things will get back to normal.” Those words had a hollow ring for him; there was nothing normal about his life anymore. _I’ve got to keep moving forward. There’s nothing to go back to._ “I'll ask the king if he'll set up a meeting with Jaina tomorrow. Maybe she'll tell me something.”

Yurig nodded and knelt in the water, letting his chin rest against the top of Mathias’ head for a moment, then began to gently stroke his scalp and massage his neck. Mathias leaned back against the tauren’s chest and closed his eyes. He felt the soft bulge of Yurig’s huge, flaccid cock against his buttocks. It was odd, but he never felt threatened by Yurig’s nakedness. The tauren’s attentions were sometimes gently sensual, but never overtly sexual. That was something Yurig reserved for his lord. The tauren could get hard just from the sound of Blightcaller’s voice.

Mathias relaxed, feeling the water drift past. Once he had accustomed himself to the smell it wasn't unpleasant.

There were cakes of dry soap at regular intervals along the edge of the pool. Yurig picked one of them up and sniffed. His ears flattened slightly. “It would be nice to have something that smells better,” he said wistfully.

“Ask the goblin,” Saurfang grunted.

Yurig’s ears perked up. He rose to his feet, dripping. Then he looked down anxiously at Mathias. “Do you wish to accompany me?”

Mathias felt a stab of shame. _Like I'm a child that he has to drag about with him_. “No.” He tried to sound confident. “I'm fine. Go find us something that smells pretty.” He forced a chuckle into his voice.

Yurig hesitated for a moment longer, then climbed up onto the side of the pool. After one more backward glance, he headed for the door. It wasn't until the door had closed that Mathias was able to tear his eyes away. He settled uncomfortably back into the water to find Anduin's clear blue eyes focused on him.

“Mathias? Are you all right?” he asked.

“Fine, Your Majesty.” Mathias focused his attention on the water in front of him. _Don't think about the orc...deep breaths...nothing is going to happen_ …

“Mathias?” Anduin’s voice was suddenly up close and his nearness startled Mathias. His feet slipped on the slick, ceramic surface and he went down. Suddenly arms were shoved beneath his armpits, crushing him, holding him captive. He sucked water into his lungs but then his head broke the surface as he was lifted up…

... gripped in the orc’s huge, calloused hands…

...and his brain lost the ability for rational thought…

Mathias heard a voice screaming and he recognized it, from all the times before _please, don't, Mistress...please stop...don't tell them to hurt me_ …

...pain...tearing his insides apart…

He felt hands on his face and a warm voice, like honey in the sun. “Mathias...easy...it's all right...you're…” Light seeped into his thoughts, limning the memories, coating them, carrying them back away from him. He heard someone choking. “Light…no…how could she…Mathias!” Anduin gasped. “Saurfang, let go of him...get back...you're terrifying him…”

…his head shoved beneath the frigid water…

…the sizzle of tiny needles against his swollen flesh…

…huge hands holding him down, deep voices grunting out their pleasure…

…time for your morning exercise, Mathias…

...shivering, naked, cold, so cold…

He felt Anduin’s gentle, grief-tinted touch inside his mind. As each memory surfaced, it was suddenly outlined in Light and then it...faded. Not gone. Never gone. But easier to bear. As if there was now someone there beside him in his pain, not so alone…

Mathias opened his eyes, feeling his lungs heaving, oxygen starved. He gasped, sucking in the damp, warm air.

“Light…” Anduin’s sapphire eyes were red rimmed, tears welling up and trickling down his cheeks. His voice was choked. “I didn't know, Mathias, what she was doing to you. If I had, I’d have moved sky and earth to get you away. I would never have left you there with her…”

Humiliation bit into him like a hot, stinging wind. _He saw what they did to me. What they made me do. What they made me into_. Mathias tore himself away from Anduin’s hands and cowered against the edge of the pool. He wanted to leap out and run, but he was terrified of leaving the water, terrified of exposing his nakedness to the orc’s eyes, of inciting his lusts.

“What's wrong with him?” Saurfang's voice was gruff, confused.

He felt a swirl of water as Anduin pulled away from him, one hand clenched around Saurfang’s wrist, coaxing him back to the far edge of the pool. _Dammit, Mathias, pull yourself together. Deep breaths. Concentrate on the sound of your own breathing._ It was part of his SI:7 training. Focus on something positive. Something he could control. Anduin wouldn't let the orc hurt him.

There was a quiet murmur of conversation, and then a thunderous roar that split the muted silence. “They did what?! Who are they? What are their names?!”

Terror ripped a whimper from his throat.

The door opened.

“Shaw!” There was a dull clatter of hooves on the wooden floor and a mighty splash that crested against his back and he gasped as he was once again grabbed, and then his nostrils filled with the familiar, comforting scent of the tauren’s wet hide.

“It is safe, Shaw.” The low, soothing rumble of the tauren’s voice sank into his bones. Mathias’ muscles went limp; if it weren’t for Yurig’s support he’d have slipped back beneath the water. “I am sorry. I should not have left you. Do you want to leave now?” there was an edge to the tauren’s voice and Mathias could feel his body twist as he turned to look at Saurfang and Anduin.

“I…” _Yes_. He wanted to get away from Anduin's pity, and Saurfang’s contempt. _I must look pretty pathetic right now_. Blightcaller...he missed Blightcaller. The man had always accepted Mathias’ fears...soothing them when he could, never making him feel inadequate for having them. But Blightcaller wasn't here and they didn’t know how long it would take to get him back, and it was time that Mathias stopped letting himself be protected. No matter how much something inside him wanted to be. “No. I'm fine. I slipped, and my head went under the water. A little panic, nothing to worry about.” He tried to pull away from the tauren’s arms but Yurig held onto him for a moment longer before allowing Mathias to step backward and slip away from him.

Mathias schooled his face into a neutral expression. He couldn't quite suppress the involuntary twitches that ran over his body, but as long as he stayed mostly submerged, it wouldn't be too noticeable. “I apologize for the display.” His voice sounded breathy and strained, nothing like the calm, in-control remark that he had pictured in his head. _Just keep going. It will get easier_. “I would consider it a personal favor if we could simply allow this incident to flow beneath the bridge.” _Pretend it didn’t happen. Put it away. Bury it_.

“I want names, Shaw.” Saurfang's voice was a deadly growl. “The orcs that did this.”

Mathias was thankful that the large bulk of Yurig’s body shielded him from having to see the orc’s expression. “And if I don't give them to you?”

There was a pause. “Then I'm going to have to round up every orc the warchief has ever so much as smiled at and beat them all bloody until someone confesses. This isn't just about you, Shaw. They have dishonored the Horde. I will not rest until this has been set right.”

“Is that supposed to encourage me to want to tell you?” Mathias couldn’t help the bitter words that slipped from his lips. “Beat them all bloody. Am I supposed to care?” _I don’t give a damn how many orcs you beat the crap out of. And I don’t give a damn about the Horde’s honor_.

Saurfang gave a frustrated grunt, and Anduin murmured something to him.

Mathias raised his gaze to Yurig’s. The tauren knew the names of the two orcs who had tormented him.

“It is your secret to tell or not,” Yurig told him quietly. “But you do not owe them protection from the consequences of their actions.”

It wasn't about protection for the orcs. Speaking their names out loud, speaking of what had happened to him, somehow brought them closer to him. Made their presence more real. As if speaking of his shame would let their power over him grow. “I'll...think about it,” Mathias promised. He raised his voice. “So...did you manage to find something that's going to make us smell good?”

“They had lavender,” Yurig told him solemnly. “Do you wish me to soap you?”

Mathias swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He let the tauren lather him up, skin and hair, and he did the same for Yurig, taking comfort in the familiar feel of the tauren’s warm body beneath his fingers. Reaching up, his fingers combed through the coarse mane, separating the knotted snarls, twisting it into loose braids and then pulling them back out. He tugged on Yurig’s horns and the tauren ducked beneath the water, rinsing the soap away. He came up shaking his head, spraying Mathias with lavender scented droplets.

As Yurig’s body shifted, Mathias caught occasional glimpses of Anduin and Saurfang. The young king’s face was pale and drawn. Saurfang hovered over him, unhappiness evident in the lines of his posture. He glanced up at Mathias but immediately averted his eyes at a touch from Anduin’s hand.

They finished their bath, toweling off and dressing in silence. Then, just before they exited the bathing room, his hands on the smooth, water stained wood of the door, Mathias turned back to determinedly meet Saurfang’s gaze. “Ruk and Tormbiler,” he said, and the speaking of those names was like the release of an arrow. It flew straight and true and found its home in Saurfang's grimly satisfied expression.

It felt good to let go. Shaw took a deep breath and stepped outside.

* * *

Mathias sat, seemingly at ease in one of the embassy’s meeting rooms, but secretly he was vibrating with tension. He and Yurig had been confined to the embassy for a week, waiting to be informed of their fate. That morning, Jaina had come to fetch him for a private conversation.

“Anduin is leaving tomorrow. He stayed a week longer than he had planned to. He said it was to be certain that I was completely healed…” A smile twitched at her lips. “I think he had more than one reason, though. Saurfang has…suggested to me that he would be open to visiting Stormwind in the future.”

It was a strange attraction, Saurfang and Anduin, but Mathias reflected that he was hardly one to cast stones. “And you, Lord Admiral?”

“I’ll be…staying a while longer. Derek sent our ship home. I didn’t really need their escort, anyway.”

Obviously, since the mage could portal herself and her brother home at any time. “Still engaged in negotiations with the warchief?” he suggested delicately.

“Yes. I suppose you could call it that,” she said. The worry line between her eyes deepened. “I don’t know, Mathias. This whole thing is so insane. So…twisted. The Forsaken…I can even understand the orcs and trolls better than I understand the undead. Sometimes. But…it’s working. She’s listening to me, at least. I don’t understand why…Light, help me…”

So Blightcaller had managed to pull it off. Mathias hoped that Jaina, at least, would realize how much they owed him. The thought of what Sylvanas was probably doing to Blightcaller right now, had been doing, probably in order to appease Jaina, made him clench inside and want to vomit. “So…Blightcaller’s plan worked after all.” Although, technically it hadn’t been Blightcaller’s plan, it had been Sylvanas’. Not that anyone would ever find that out. Or would they? He had no way of knowing how much Anduin had seen in his mind. Or how much of that knowledge he had passed on to Jaina. Nothing she had said to him so far indicated that she and Anduin had discussed anything that Anduin had learned in the bathhouse.

“It was…a plan that turned out…better than might have been expected. He deserved credit for that,” she admitted grudgingly. Then the Admiral’s blue eyes hardened. “But don’t think I don’t know what he did to you. Sylvanas told me that Blightcaller had been hunting for you for years, intending to use you for some kind of Gurubashi ritual, to drain your energies to feed himself. That he caught you and was about to torture you, but you escaped. Anduin confirmed that he had seen all that in your report.”

“Yes.” That much was certainly true. “He and I were enemies for many years. Now…I don’t know what we are,” he said honestly. “I don’t know what I am any more. But I would never betray the Alliance.” He met her gaze squarely.

“I believe you, Spymaster Shaw,” she said. “And I understand that it hasn’t been possible for you to leave until now. Anduin understands as well. Please believe that you will be welcomed back when we return you to Stormwind, and no one will think less of you for…what happened.”

Mathias shook his head. “I’m not going back.”

“I don’t understand why…no…maybe I do. He broke you down. Then he rebuilt you to his own tastes. It would be hard…to recover from that.”

“No…it wasn’t like that at all. Blightcaller was…as kind to me as he knew how to be.” The breath was forced from Mathias’ lungs. There’s no way he could explain to her a thing that he couldn’t even understand himself. Blightcaller was…not explainable. He was an inhuman bastard who could torture someone to death without regret. And yet…there was a compassion in the man completely at odds with his nature. And Mathias got the feeling that if he left now, whatever he had awakened in Blightcaller would gutter and die. The man would thank him to see it gone, more than likely, but the thought made Mathias ache inside. He wondered if Yurig would be enough to keep Blightcaller warm.

Jaina’s gaze was troubled. “But he demanded that Sylvanas give you to him. Then he kept you as his prisoner and refused to let anyone see you. Not even Baine.”

He wondered how much Sylvanas had admitted to Jaina, of what she had done to him. The thought of Jaina knowing the details of his torture made him feel ill. “He didn’t want to let me go. But…to be honest, the shape I was in…maybe I was better off with him. He didn’t have expectations of me.” _I was a broken toy that he spent months gluing back together. I have no idea why._ “I suppose Sylvanas is angry with him for taking matters into his own hands. You haven’t told her, have you? That he took you into his confidence about his intentions?”

He saw her lips compress at his suggestion that she and Nathanos had been allies in keeping that secret, however reluctant.

“No,” she admitted. “I just told her that he drugged and kidnapped me.” Her blue eyes fastened on his, steady and calm. “I didn’t tell her that Blightcaller told me that the whole thing was her idea.”

Mathias closed his eyes as a shudder of relief ran through his body. _She knows. She knows it wasn’t Blightcaller’s choice_. “Thank you. I know that none of us has any claim on your…kindness. But Yurig hasn’t heard anything, and neither have I. Just…look, Lord Admiral…”

“Jaina.”

“Jaina.” The name had once felt comfortable on his tongue, but no longer. He didn’t want to be on a first name basis with Azeroth’s most powerful, these days. “I know you’re probably pretty angry at him, too. For good reason. He’s…a complete bastard. But…I’m asking this as a personal favor…once you and Sylvanas get over being pissed at him and you’re done punishing him, could you have him sent back? We…” _we need him_ “…the place doesn’t run very well without him.”

Jaina stared at him, stricken. Then she said, in a voice filled with compassion “I’m sorry, Mathias. I thought you’d have figured it out by now. Blightcaller is dead.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blightcaller is dead. Yurig and Shaw are on their own, left to pick up the pieces after Blightcaller's desperate gambit to protect Shaw from Sylvanas ends in what Blightcaller would have deemed a success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, folks, buckle in for a wild ride. This chapter may be a little hard to get through for some. WARNINGS: There's blood play, decaying bodies, bondage, a little cannibalism. But it's neither erotic nor gratuitous. This chapter is about desperate people making desperate choices. It's about self sacrifice and unexpected love and about having the courage to do what you have to in order to protect the people you care about. I hope there is at least one moment where your heart will be in your throat and your breath will catch.

At first, he had met her announcement with skepticism. After all, Blightcaller had died more than once and been brought back. But Jaina admitted that Sylvanas had taken her back to the stone building where her former Champion’s body lay. Blightcaller’s demise, she told Shaw, was…confirmed. She had managed to talk Sylvanas out of burning the body, sensing that Shaw and Yurig would want to lay him to rest according to Yurig’s Earthmother rites.

Mathias didn’t remember much of the conversation with Jaina after learning of Blightcaller’s death. He had stumbled through the halls to the room he shared with Yurig, and sat, motionless on the bed staring at the wall until Yurig was alarmed enough to threaten to call the guards to fetch a healer. Or Anduin.

 _I want to go home, Yurig_ , was all that he had said.

He and Yurig left the city that night, after Mathias helped Yurig slip past their guards. Not that they were being watched all that closely any more. The tauren still had access to his lord’s funds in the Honor Bank, so they had no trouble withdrawing enough money to buy transportation and supplies. Mathias wondered who Blightcaller’s possessions would be claimed by, and whether anything had been left to Yurig.

For now, Stonecliff Hold was the only safe place they had to go to. Neither Sylvanas nor Jaina had announced Blightcaller’s death publicly, though Saurfang and Anduin had been told. And Derek had been informed of all that had happened, and had apparently not taken the news well. Shaw couldn't help but pity the man. To be handed a miraculous offer of salvation, only to find that not only had salvation fled from his grasp, but that his savior had turned out to be the man who had kidnapped and tortured his sister.

Guilt clawed in Shaw's gut. _He did it to save me._ It was a thing that Blightcaller wouldn't have spared a single regret over, most likely. At least, not the Blightcaller that the world saw. It was well known among the Horde that the Forsaken was capable of inhuman cruelty, that he reveled in torture and blood-sports.

Blightcaller had been that man for many years. The world would be better off without him, everyone agreed.

Except the inhabitants of Stonecliff. There were more than a few of them who would mourn the loss of their master and lord. Including Shaw. Regardless of how guilty the admission made him feel.

Telling Yurig of his lord’s death had been...painful. Mathias had deliberately waited until Yurig was surrounded by the familiar, away from those who met the news of Blightcaller’s demise with open satisfaction. The tauren had gone very still, then left the room without a word. Hours later, Mathias had found him, sitting cross-legged on a colorful blanket on the edge of a cliff, watching the sunset. Tears seeped down his damp, furred face. He had two drums, one beneath each hand, and he was tapping out a soft, arhythmic beat as the sun fell, plunging them both into darkness.

Mathias had sat vigil with him until chill air left him shivering, and Yurig had risen, dismissing Mathias’ protests and wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, and then walked with him back to the keep. They had shared a bath late that night and then curled up together in Yurig’s bed. When Mathias woke up the next morning, for just a moment he expected to see Blightcaller there beside the bed, watching them.

Of course, his chair had been empty.

* * *

The sun blazed down on Mathias’ head. A gentle wind blew away the puffs of dust kicked up from beneath their kodos’ feet as they placidly made their way across the dry plains of Durotar. Small lizards darted across their path and scurried up the rocks. Herd of wild pigs scattered at their approach. Wild kodos watched in silent curiosity as they passed, small brown birds calling to each other from the kodos’ mud crusted backs. The hard clay radiated heat upward; trickles of sweat wandered down the side of Mathias’ face and over his back. He shifted uncomfortably to relieve the itch.

“Do you see any landmarks that you recognize?” Yurig sat comfortably astride his mount. He'd been riding kodos since he was old enough to climb up onto their leathery backs. It was claimed that the tauren of Camp Narache learned to ride before they crawled.

Mathias found the creatures good tempered enough, but too large for comfort. His legs angled out, constantly on the verge of losing sensation. Not to mention the fact that the saddle wasn’t shaped for a human body. “That mountain over there, the one with the notch on the top. It's in the right location. And there's the hill she described.” Neither he nor Jaina had a clear memory of where Sylvanas’ private torture facility was located, but between the two of them, they had managed to come up with a rough idea of where Blightcaller’s body would be. Although, the Lord Admiral had told him quite bluntly that she thought him a fool for being sentimental about the remains of a man who had died a long time ago.

“I don’t see any buildings.” Yurig rose in his stirrups to get a better perspective.

“No. It wasn't like this...too dry. There were trees and flowers and a big pool of water.”

“Oasis. There are a number of them in the area. I think there’s one just on the other side of those hills.”

Jaina had described the place to him, and he'd recognized it from her description. Sylvanas had brought him there a few times. He remembered it almost fondly...at least, compared to the other places that she had taken him to. Sometimes she would let him open the windows of the carriage that they traveled in. When they arrived, there had been fresh air and sunshine and the chirps and calls of living creatures, at least for the walk from the carriage to the squat ugly building that she had him dragged into.

Inside, of course…well…those were not fond memories.

They continued in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. At least they didn’t have to worry about Stonecliff, or their future. On one of her frequent visits to Stonecliff, Jaina had brought them a copy of Blightcaller’s official will, notarized and kept on record by a goblin-run legal firm in Orgrimmar. Yurig was now the master of Stonecliff. A fact that everyone but Lena, Blightcaller’s undead soldier from Theramore, accepted without visible protest.

Lena and Jaina had got to talking about common ground, people they had known in Theramore, and Jaina had offered Lena a place in Kul Tiras. Lena had said she’d consider it, and they’d left it at that.

Last night they had slept in Blightcaller’s bed. Yurig had read aloud, several chapters of one of his lord’s favorite books. They had cuddled together, but more than once Mathias had awakened to feel the back of his nightshirt damp with tears.

They came up over a rise and Mathias found himself looking down into a sheltered bowl of vegetation. A pool glittered in the sunlight. Birds flitted among the trees. A small creature that looked like a fox flipped its bushy tail at them and dived under the overlapping ferns. The air was thick with the scent of the rotting vegetation beneath the ferns.

There was a building half visible, not far from the pool. Much of its roof had caved in. “I'm guessing this is the place,” Mathias remarked, trying to keep his tone light. There was no doubt in his mind. The buzzing trill of an insect he had heard in no other place. The smell of rot and growing vegetation mingled together into an obscene hybrid of life and death that had always made him shudder with unwanted hope.

The kodos picked their way carefully down the slope. Once they reached the pool, Yurig stripped off their saddles and gear. “They will not go far from the oasis,” he said. The large grey one that had carried Yurig grunted with pleasure as it waded out into the water.

As they approached the building, Mathias found it more and more difficult to focus. There was a stone to the left of the entrance that seemed familiar. About the size of a man’s head, its irregular shape reminded him of a toad. _I always think it looks like a toad_ … His mind struck out wildly, as if something inside him was drowning, seeking some place to focus on other than the inside of his own head.

It took some time for them to clear away enough of the debris to get through the door. Yurig did most of the heavy lifting. It was difficult for Mathias to force himself to even look at the place. His memories had begun to return. _I don't want to go in there...please don’t make me go inside. Yes, I am begging you, I’m begging.._.

There was more debris inside, enough that even walking was difficult. Mathias and Yurig picked their way over the tumbled stones and snapped timbers. A small lizard darted past, beneath Mathias’ descending boot. The interior was well-lit; sunlight spilled down through the huge hole in the roof. _Probably where Sylvanas exited with Jaina_ , thought Mathias. _Leaving Blightcaller. Without so much as a backward glance_. Jaina had described the scene to him, and resentment flared up in him at the thought of the coldness in her eyes. _He did what he had to, to keep worse things from happening. Give him credit for that._

The stink of death fouled the air. Mathias had to pull up his collar and breathe through his shirt until he got used to the smell. If Yurig was bothered by it, he gave no sign. The tauren’s gaze roved back and forth, like an insect darting over the water. Suddenly, he gave a soft cry and made for the corner of the room, his hooves clattering on the wooden floor, stumbling in his haste to scramble over the debris that blocked off that section from view.

Mathias followed him, far more carefully.

Blightcaller’s broken body lay in an almost shapeless lump against the wall. Yurig slid to his knees before Blightcaller's corpse, his hands trembling as he reached out to brush them over the awkward angles of the Forsaken's limbs, peering into his eyes, touching, searching for any sign of life. "My lord? My lord?" His voice was tight. Barely audible. "Earthmother," he breathed. "No. Please. Please." Only silence answered his prayer. Yurig caressed Blightcaller's face, his bewildered eyes open and staring, as if seeing something he could not find in himself to comprehend. Then he slumped and his hands fell away as Mathias approached.

The Forsaken’s neck was broken, leaving his head lolling at an obscene angle. Mathias straightened it. It wasn't dignified. Nothing about his death was dignified. His rib cage was caved in, exposing a desiccated set of internal organs. _Damn you, Blightcaller. For myself...I'll get by. Eventually. But Yurig...how could you have let this happen? Was it really worth it?_

His back was also broken in two places, high on the cervical and again lower down. Mathias pulled his body by the legs, out into a clear patch of earth exposed by the torn up floor. He rolled Blightcaller onto his back and straightened his limbs, pressing his eyelids down over the glassy darkness of his eyes.

It was the eyes that bothered him the most. He gotten accustomed to the glare of them. The snappish, cold fire that could burn and cool at the same time. Before he'd gotten involved with Blightcaller, if anyone had asked him whether a man with glowing eyes could show emotion in them…

But he'd never had trouble reading Blightcaller. Not from that first day, hearing the deep voice that cut through the endless waves of pain that had racked his body for hours [… _I know, Shaw…]_ something in him had sensed Blightcaller’s intent, offering the only safety he had known in far too long. He'd been forced to cling to the man, but he’d never been able to figure him out. He never would, now.

Mathias unbuttoned the tattered grey silk shirt that enclosed the Forsaken’s chest. The skin beneath was unnaturally firm. Unnaturally warm, probably due to decomposition; he was used to the cool touch of the man’s undead flesh. Dark blotches mottled Blightcaller’s chest and the skin was receding from the open wounds. Shards of bone and decayed flesh leaked out slowly, disturbed by Mathias' manhandling of the body.

“I should be taking care of my lord’s body.” Yurig knelt on the ground, his arms hanging slack at his sides. His ears lay limply against his skull, as if the tauren hadn’t the strength to lift them.

“No,” said Mathias. “Let me.” He’d handled dead bodies before, and it was obvious that Yurig had not expected to be faced with his lord’s final death. To be honest, neither had Mathias. He’d expected to find Blightcaller damaged, but still viable. He tugged on Blightcaller’s broken leg, working the bone back out of sight. Bathing him would have to wait.

Should he be buried? Or burned? He glanced up at Yurig. Probably burned. The tauren would want to do some kind of ritual, with Blightcaller’s body laid out on a pyre...no...that was the orcs. Tauren worshipped the Earthmother; they laid them on a platform but didn’t burn their dead. Laying them to rest in the arms of the mother, they called it. He’d read it in one of those books Blightcaller was always giving him to read, to keep him busy.

Mathias found himself caressing Blightcaller’s skin, his hands roving over the contours of the man’s body. _I never really knew him_.

Blightcaller hadn't wanted to be known; he had been a private man. If anyone had known him, it would have been Yurig. Mathias looked up. The tauren hadn't moved. His eyes were fixed in wide eyed desperation on his lord's body and he was muttering something beneath his breath.

The hairs rose on the back of Mathias’ neck as he felt the currents of magic moving around him. The air changed. Scents drifted into his nostrils. Water, pure and clean, splashing down into an endless deep pool. The aroma of flowers carried on the wind. Freshly turned earth. The sweet aroma of cedar smoke. The sharp tang of newly chopped wood. His skin shuddered at the sensation.

“Yurig,” he breathed in awe. “I don't know what you're doing. But it's working. He is...I don't think he's quite as dead anymore.”

A faint line of light squeezed out from beneath Blightcaller’s lids. Mathias tweaked one of them open. The light in the Forsaken's eyes was dim, but steady. Mathias looked up. Yurig slumped on the ground, trying weakly to rise. “Shaw?”

“He's alive. Or...not dead, anyway.”

“Thank the Earthmother.” Yurig’s voice was a sob of relief. He let himself collapse, hands caressing the earth. “Thank you, Mother…”

If Blightcaller had been a living person, Mathias would have covered him with something, but a corpse had no warmth to contain. He knew it was irrational; the Forsaken didn't feel the cold, but he couldn't help wanting Blightcaller to wake to the feel of sunshine instead of the dark, damp tomb that surrounded him. They’d get him out of this place. Yurig could carry him and Mathias would lead his kodo. The sooner they could get him home, the better. Mathias grasped Blightcaller’s body and lifted.

“No! Don't move him!”

Yurig’s panicked cry came too late. Mathias felt the warm shell of healing energies, that he had been barely been aware of, snuff out as Blightcaller’s body lost contact with the earth. The scent of freshly turned dirt was replaced by the stench of rotting flesh.

“No!” Yurig lunged toward him, his eyes red rimmed with fury.

Mathias had never seen the tauren angry before. He dropped Blightcaller’s body and instinctively scrambled back away. “Do it again. Whatever you did before. I won't move him next time.”

Yurig’s anger died as quickly as it had risen. He dropped to his knees with a despairing whimper. Slowly, he shook his head. “I have no more to give. My energies are depleted. And the Earthmother will not be merciful a second time.” His hand reached out to touch Blightcaller’s chest and the pale skin sloughed away, leaving Yurig staring in frozen horror at the decayed flesh that dripped from his fingers.

Blightcaller’s body was rotting at an accelerated rate. The blackness beneath his skin spread out as they watched. Flesh shrank back from bone, like the retreat of a wave on the sand.

“My lord,” Yurig moaned. “Don't leave. Stay.”

 _Live. Please, live_. The memory hit Mathias, forcing the breath from his lungs. Blightcaller had asked that of him. Had the Forsaken’s need been even a pale echo of Yurig’s? He’d never thought about it before…had he been something more to Blightcaller than an amusement?

“Yurig…” Blightcaller’s voice trailed off, as if the single word had drained his strength.

“My lord!”

Blightcaller’s eyes were open, the glow in them as faint as a drowned ember. He spoke a few words, his lips barely moving. Mathias couldn’t hear what was said to Yurig.

“It is not for you to set your own worth in my eyes, my lord.” Yurig’s hand hovered above his face, but did not touch. “I will mourn you. I will remember you.”

“Whatever...you need…” Blightcaller’s chest compressed with the effort of speaking.

“I need you to live, my lord. I need you.” Yurig’s voice broke. “Shaw. I beg you. Save him.”

“Me? How?” Mathias’ mind went blank for a moment. _What the hell can I do for Blightcaller_?

“The ritual. The one that restores him. It couldn’t have brought him back from death, but…I do not have the energy for him. I am empty. Useless.” The tauren’s ears flattened in shame. “Shaw. Please.”

Mathias crawled back, reluctantly, nausea twisting in his gut. _This is not going to be pleasant_. Up close, the stench was unbearable. Blightcaller’s cheeks were sunken. The light in his eyes was almost too dim to detect. His lips had pulled back, exposing teeth and blackened gums. He didn’t respond to Mathias’ approach. “Blightcaller. Damn you. Wake up. We have a deal. You need to stay.”

“Shaw…” The sound of his name was like ashes blown from a dying fire.

"Still alive, Blightcaller?"

"Say, rather,” the Forsaken’s laugh was a dry rattle, “that although there is much less of me than there was, some still remains."

"What can I do? What do you need, Blightcaller?"

"Pain."

"I can do that."

“Fear.”

Mathias snorted. “You're a rotting corpse that talks. You're scaring the shit out of me, don't worry.”

"Lust."

"Not...easy."

Blightcaller's thin lips shuddered up into a crooked smile. "Nothing is ever...easy...with you."

 _I can't think about this too much_. Mathias unbuckled his belt and yanked his trousers down. He wrapped a hand around his own cock, starting to work himself with grim determination. The dryness made it uncomfortable. Mathias spat several times into his hand and went back to stroking. _I've done more difficult things, under worse conditions_ , he reminded himself. _That's what they train us for. SI:7. We do the things no one else can._ He had a sudden half hysterical urge to giggle, at the thought of writing out a situational for the training manual outlining how to force an erection while under stress. “Yurig. You're going to have to take over at some point. You know what he needs.” _This won’t work if I stay in control of myself. That’s what went wrong before, why the ritual wouldn’t work. Blightcaller wasn’t willing to hurt me in order to force it_.

“Shaw.” Blightcaller’s voice had acquired an unpleasant, liquid quality. “I would not require or ask this of you.”

“I know, Blightcaller.” _That's why I'm doing it_.

“Shaw?” Yurig’s voice was gentle. Too gentle.

“Yurig. Damn it. You know what needs to be done. Do it.” _Before I lose my nerve_. “You have my permission. Whatever you have to do. Make this happen. Make it work for us.” He shut his eyes as the tauren loomed over him. A cloth was tied over his eyes. His hands were pulled behind his back and tied. His legs were stretched out and bound tightly.

“I brought this oil. I had intended it for myself,” the tauren’s voice rumbled. “It will help you stay erect when you can no longer manage on your own.”

Mathias flinched as Yurig slathered oil over his cock. Heat spread over the sensitive flesh, and he suddenly became stiff, almost painfully so. He squirmed in his bonds, letting the sensations wash over him, trying to embrace them. It was too strong to be enjoyable but he tried to convince himself that what he was feeling was pleasure.

“He cannot penetrate you, Shaw. And your sexual energies will not be enough. He is too far gone. I am sorry. I hope that you will forgive me. Fear is our only choice.”

Mathias had time for one panicked moment before bright agony lanced through him. A knife blade had scored his chest, opening a stinging cut from collarbone to belly. He felt the heated drip of his own blood as large hands grasped him and laid him face down across Blightcaller’s body.

The cloying stink of old death clogged his lungs; he struggled to breathe. He felt Blightcaller moving beneath him, the slippery feel of rot, the curve of exposed bone. Undead teeth sank into his shoulder. He screamed, more at the horror of being eaten alive than from the pain. He felt Blightcaller’s lips sealing over the wound, the slide of his tongue against Mathias’ flesh, dry and leathery. Wave after wave of terror rose up in him; just as he got one under control another would rise and sweep him away.

Mathias could feel the spell sucking away his energy, his life. His mind tried automatically to assert control, to staunch his fear, but he ruthlessly overrode it. He relinquished all control. He held nothing back; not his terror, not his pain. It was an action that would have been impossible for him at one time, but after being forced to expose himself to the banshee over and over, now it felt almost natural. Safety in surrender. His throat grew raw with screaming, and part of him was glad there was nobody to witness his loss of control but Yurig and Blightcaller.

As if his dignity was a thing that could be preserved at this point….

He felt Yurig’s hand grasping his cock and manipulating it. The oil must be working, because despite his horror and pain, he was close. He squirmed and panted, and then he felt Yurig’s finger breach him, skillfully pressing inside him and angling up and that was all he needed. Release ripped through Mathias, a brutal orgasm that was sucked away by the magic that bound him to Blightcaller.

Blightcaller gave a shudder to match his own and then Mathias collapsed as the spell released him. Yurig stripped away the ropes that bound him and he lay, drained and boneless, draped across Blightcaller’s body.

The stink of decay was gone. He could feel the smooth lines of Blightcaller’s body beneath him, the flesh firm and cool, no longer soft and rotting. He managed to pull off his blindfold and let it slip to the floor. His shoulder ached as Yurig dressed it; the sharp smell of antiseptic roused his mind from its haze of shock. Mathias rolled off Blightcaller and pushed himself up into a sitting position. His cock was still rigid and the flesh was oversensitive; he tucked himself carefully back into his pants and hoped the effects of the oil would wear off quickly. His clothing was soaked with the foul reminder of Blightcaller’s former state of decay.

The wound on his chest was a livid shade of red. Mathias ran his fingers over it, gingerly testing. There was a slight discomfort, but no pain or bleeding. Blightcaller’s eyes were closed, but a brilliant red glow could be seen, seeping out from beneath the lids. His skin was the deep bluish tone that was normal for him. Much of the dark bruising had disappeared. Healthy flesh had closed over the exposed bones. His face seemed relaxed, almost peaceful.

“Shaw.” Yurig bent to touch him and Mathias flinched away. The tauren’s ears flattened in distress and his shoulders hunched. “I am sorry. I am sorry that I hurt you. Please...let me help you to get warm.”

Mathias was cold. He hadn't noticed it before, but the tauren was right. Suddenly, he couldn't stop shivering.

“Shaw?” There was a pleading note in Yurig’s voice; the tauren crouched in front of him but made no attempt to touch him.

 _This was my choice. It was worse than I had imagined, but it’s done, we’ve saved Blightcaller_. He reached out a hand to pat Yurig’s arm. “It’s okay.” His throat stung and his voice was hoarse. “Big guy.”

Yurig slid his arm beneath Mathias’ legs and behind his back and picked him up gently, as if he was something infinitely precious, and carried him outside. They sat together in the bright sunlight, with Yurig’s arms wrapped around him, cradling him against the tauren’s broad, warm chest, rocking him gently and murmuring apologies into his ear.

Gradually, his body relaxed. Eventually he slept.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blightcaller has been restored, thanks to the favor of the Earthmother, and the combined efforts of Shaw and Yurig. Nathanos and Shaw need to figure out how to move forward with their lives, now that the sword of Sylvanas is no longer hanging over their heads.

The morning sun burned its way past Mathias’ lids, and he opened his eyes. He and Yurig had shifted positions several times during the night. The tauren was sprawled face-down in a sandy patch, one arm folded beneath his head and his right horn half embedded in the sand.

There was a loud scolding noise as a bird swooped overhead. Something went kut-kut-kut and there was another whir of wings. There were half a dozen tall trees in his range of vision. Their broad, serrated leaves swayed gently. Mathias closed his eyes, feeling the warm, scratchy pillow of Yurig’s thigh beneath his neck.

 _We should get up. Check on Blightcaller_. The thought sent tiny pulses of terror down into his stomach. _Don't make me go in there_. If his fear of the place had been bad before, it was ten times worse now. Dread of what had been done to him there by Sylvanas mixed with the sick horror of seeing Blightcaller’s decaying body, and what came afterward.

He didn't remember much beyond being cut by Yurig, though the few flashes that he did recall convinced him he didn't want to dig any deeper into those memories. The images that he retained felt so surreal that he wondered if they were all a nightmare, caused by the shock of finding Blightcaller’s corpse.

 _Blightcaller is gone_. He rolled the thought over in his mind, tasting it, but it felt wrong. Not frightening or painful, just...not correct.

There was a quiet rustling coming from the direction of the pond. Mathias rolled over, his hand going instinctively to his knife. A man stood among the thigh high ferns. Blightcaller’s naked body glistened with the rivulets of pond water trickling down. Near his feet lay the tattered remains of the gray silk shirt and trousers that had been his death shroud.

There was something about the shape of the ferns that triggered a memory. _Red eyes glowing in the darkness, ferns forming an arch over his head_. Blightcaller had sat there, beneath the ferns watching them, all night. Sluicing the last of the water from his body, Blightcaller begin to pull on the extra set of clothing that Yurig had thought to pack for him. Mathias sat and watched him, feeling comfort seeping into his chest.

 _I should be resenting this. Hating the fact that I have been forced so far from everything that I was_. What sort of man could feel such contentment at the sight of a dead man dressing himself?

Yurig shifted, rolling Mathias off his leg, then went very still. He pushed himself up into a sitting position. “My lord?” The tauren’s eyes drank in the side of Blightcaller, who was obviously struggling with the buttons on his shirt. His movements seemed slightly stiff.

The Forsaken looked up. “Yurig. Good morning. How…” His eyes found Mathias’. “How do you feel?”

Yurig rose and swiftly closed the distance between them. “I need to hold you, my lord.” His voice was plaintive.

“Of course. Whatever you need, Yurig.” Blightcaller murmured something else, too quietly for Mathias to hear.

“Down here, my lord,” said Yurig. He sat, cross-legged, and drew Blightcaller down. There was a vaguely uncomfortable look on the Forsaken’s face as he was pulled into Yurig’s lap and sat, draped across the tauren’s thighs, crushed against the large, hairy chest.

Mathias sat watching them for a time and when it became clear that the embrace wasn't ending anytime soon, he rolled to his feet. “I'm going to check on the kodos,” he said.

“Shaw…” Blightcaller’s glowing eyes fastened on him.

Mathias couldn't help but grin at the weirdness of the sight. The demonic looking undead was cradled in Yurig’s lap like a giant, awkward looking baby. He chuckled and waved his hand. “I'm fine, Blightcaller. We'll have our cuddle time later,” he couldn't resist smirking.

There was a flash of irritation in Blightcaller’s expression, then his gaze softened and he nodded. His hand slipped up over Yurig’s massive bicep and he began to stroke the tauren’s forearm. Yurig tucked his muzzle into the crook of his lord's neck, his ears quivering with emotion.

Blightcaller’s bare footprints led into and out of the pool several times. _Checking up on us while he was having his bath_. It was disturbing to contemplate, and not something he'd ever be able to comfortably share with anyone other than Yurig. Blightcaller showed a side of himself to Yurig and Mathias that he shared with no one else. Mathias didn't think the man would react well to having his softer side exposed to the world.

In fact, as Mathias thought about it, he realized that Blightcaller deliberately courted the world's disapproval. Why? Preemptive action? Or was he punishing himself for something? 

The two kodos were dozing in the sun. Flies buzzed around them and their skin was caked with dust. _I should probably get them washed off_. Mathias moved to a position behind them. “Het-het! Het-het!” he commanded, the way he'd heard Yurig do. One of them turned to look at him, but neither seemed inclined to move.

Mathias glared at them. _Bloody big lumps of lazy_ … He tromped about in the fern littered oasis, looking for a stick big enough to thump them with. An emerald green snake slithered from beneath his feet. Red and brown beetles scuttled up and down the tree trunks. Dragonflies buzzed across the surface of the water, hovering and darting. There was a branch that looked promising, but when he lifted it, it broke in half. Then he heard Yurig’s deep voice rumbling “Het-het!” and the sound of splashing as the kodos heaved themselves into the pool. “Shaw?” Yurig’s voice was raised in worry.

“I'm over here!” he shouted. “Taking a bath!” he added. Mathias stripped off his tattered, bloody clothing and dived into the clear water. It felt good, rinsing off the sweat and the blood and a general sliminess that he didn't want to think about too much. He broke the surface and took a breath of air in time to see a huge body hurtling into the pool. With a tremendous splash, Yurig hit the surface, and a tidal wave of cold water washed over Mathias’ head. Yurig came up flapping his ears.

They spent some time in the water. Yurig floated on his back, his huge, hairy body bobbing half-submerged. After he had thoroughly scrubbed his clothing, Mathias swam down and explored the bottom of the pool, surprising a number of hand-sized crustaceans which scuttled away from him. His muscles ached with the cold and the unaccustomed effort but it was a good ache. _I've let myself go. Need to get back in shape_. He climbed out onto the muddy bank.

Though it was hard to know what he was supposed to be getting back in shape for. Would he and Blightcaller return to the routine that they had fallen into? Or were things about to change again? He shivered. It was the uncertainty that bothered him the most. The feeling that he’d lost control of his life and would probably never get it back. He had no choice but to rely on Blightcaller’s protection and although he had come to trust the man’s intentions, at times, Blightcaller himself seemed powerless.

Yurig rolled over in the water and thrashed to gain his footing. He climbed up out of the pool and approached Mathias.

Brushing a dragonfly off his shoulder, Mathias asked “Did Blightcaller mention how long we’d be…”

Yurig reached out, fingers tracing down the jagged red scar running over Mathias’ chest. “I hurt you.” His voice was thick with sorrow.

Mathias took a deep breath and let it out. He hugged Yurig against him. “It’s okay, big guy. I forgive you. You did what needed to be done, and that’s what’s important. He’s back. We’re all right, now.”

The tauren stroked the back of Mathias’ head. “You are the bravest person I have ever known. I did not realize humans could be like you.” He gently took hold of Mathias’ shoulders and pushed their bodies apart. “Your dressing is wet. I should change it.” He touched the sodden gauze and his ears sagged unhappily. “It gives my lord pain to remember what he did to you. Can you forgive him as well?”

It was almost laughable. After all the things that had been done to him…

But then, none of them had been done by Blightcaller, had they? “It’s okay. He wasn’t himself.” _Blightcaller’s teeth, sinking into his shoulder_ … Mathias shivered, reminding himself that it shouldn’t be any worse than contemplating being eaten by one of the mangy looking wolf packs that roamed outside of the walls of Stormwind. It had been, though. Much worse.

He let Yurig lead him back to the clearing outside the ruined building. Blightcaller stood in the center of it, watching their approach.

Yurig removed the damp bandage and laid it out in the sun. Then he replaced it with another, wound carefully about Mathias’ aching shoulder. Through all this Blightcaller merely watched, his eyes never seeming to leave them. So still that he barely seemed alive.

 _I’m not afraid of him_ , Mathias thought. _I haven’t been, not for a long time. Nothing has changed_. A weight that had pressed down on him lifted and flowed away. _We’re all right_. He rose and approached Blightcaller.

“Shaw.” There was no inflection in the Forsaken’s voice. His eyes burned intensely.

“Blightcaller.” Mathias tilted his head up slightly, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand.

“Are you…well?” There was a world of uncertainty betrayed by that slight hesitation. “Did I damage you?”

A feeling of something almost like fondness swept over Mathias. “I’m good.” He grinned. “Is this where we get our cuddle time?”

“Is that…what you require?”

It was unexpectedly tempting. Blightcaller’s almost-concealed dismay at the thought was entertaining. But the logistics of the thing were entirely too daunting, so Mathias merely shook his head. “Not right now. But I’d like to go home. I think there’s a bathtub with our names on it, and I’m too old to be sleeping on the ground.”

“Then…let us seek a more hospitable resting place for you.” Blightcaller reached out a hand, almost hesitantly, brushing the backs of his fingers down the side of Mathias’ face. “I am grateful, Shaw.”

Mathias gave a small snort. “I don’t suppose that’s a condition you run across all that often.”

“No. It is not…comfortable,” Blightcaller admitted. “In the future, I shall strongly avoid situations where I should be forced to repeat it.”

“Yurig and I would appreciate that,” Mathias told him. “We don’t sleep as well when you’re away.”

Blightcaller nodded gravely, his fingers tracing the line of Mathias’ jaw for a time. Then his hand dropped, and he turned and led the way to the clearing where Yurig waited with the kodos.

* * *

Nathanos lounged in his chair, in one of the downstairs meeting rooms of the Orgrimmar Embassy. It was comfortable, but spartan. Three chairs and a table. An oil painting depicting the building of the Serpent’s Spine in Pandaria hung on one wall, and on the other a battle scene with a number of orcs surrounded by draenei body parts. A pitcher of water and a dozen glasses sat on a side table. The room was illuminated by four oil lamps fastened to the walls. He had come into town with Shaw and Yurig, dressed in full Shroud, and reserved a room for them anonymously at an inn in the Valley of Strength. Shaw had requested that Jaina be told before Nathanos re-entered the public eye.

A woman stepped into the room without knocking. The blue stone on her staff brightened, throwing out a glow that caused the light from the oil lamps to pale by comparison. When the light fell across Nathanos’ face, Jaina Proudmoore froze. Her mouth opened, then closed. “Blightcaller.” Her head gave a convulsive shake of disbelief. “But…you were dead. Sylvanas told me…and I was there. You were dead.”

“I was. It wasn't an entirely new experience,” he remarked.

She frowned, puzzled. “I know that Sylvanas didn't raise you.”

“No. Yurig called in some favors with his Earthmother. Between the two of them, he and Shaw managed to restore my life energies.”

"I didn't know that was possible." Jaina’s brow furrowed as she pondered the implications of that. “Does Sylvanas know?”

Nathanos shrugged. “She might. I can't keep track of every member of my staff. I'm certain at least some of them must be reporting back to her.” He didn't mention that he and Yurig and Shaw had only recently returned to Stonecliff. _Let Sylvanas wonder about the efficiency and loyalty of her spies._

Jaina eyed him warily. “Shaw said someone wanted to talk to me. I assumed he was talking about you?”

“Obviously,” he said dryly. “Would you care to sit?”

“No.” She gestured and a faint blue aura of energy sheathed her body.

Nathanos steepled his fingers and gave her a slight smirk.

She regarded him with coldness. “I learn from my mistakes. You won't catch me trusting you a second time.”

“Once was sufficient. Although I hardly think trust was involved. Carelessness, perhaps.”

Stung, she spat at him, “Careless to think that you could be trusted after you gave my brother your word that you would help him. And that you would guarantee his safety. You gave your word of honor.”

Her memory of his promise was a bit distorted, but Nathanos didn’t feel it worthwhile to pick at nits. “My promise of safety was only extended to him. Yes, I gave your brother permission to trust me. For a time.”

“Are you telling me that you've withdrawn your offer?”

“Which one?”

“Don't play your twisted games with me.”

“Then speak openly. And plainly. And shut the damned door.” Nathanos struggled to bring his temper under control. Ever since his second resurrection, his emotional state had been turbulent. It was inconvenient, to say the least.

Jaina slammed the door shut and flung herself into a chair. “Are you going to help my brother?”

“I have said that I would. Has his condition deteriorated?”

“Don't bother pretending you care. He was a means to an end for you, a way to get to me. If you must know, he's not well. He has dismissed the services of his valet. He won't let anyone see…” Her fists clenched. “He's wearing the Shroud all the time. And gloves. When he heard that you were dead, he...just gave up. He won’t eat. He barely talks.”

“I hope that you will be able to reassure him.” It was unexpected, but Nathanos had found himself liking the Kul Tiran. He had a pleasing mix of stubbornness and uncertainty. And the benefit of having the brother of Jaina Proudmoore beholden to him was undeniable. “I will be returning to Stonecliff tomorrow. You may tell Derek he is welcome to accompany us. While he is my guest there, I will teach him to restore himself without consuming human flesh.”

“You and the tauren and...Shaw?” She looked troubled. “Even when he thought you were dead he wouldn't let me take him back home. Why?”

“That is a question for him.”

“He’s even harder to dig answers out of than you are. I'm not letting you take Derek off again, Blightcaller. Does your invitation extend to me as well, this time,” she inquired sarcastically, “or is this another one of those parties for the dead? And the…how did your tauren refer to himself…the ‘as good as dead’?”

“That depends.” Nathanos gazed at her steadily. Normally, the living were made uncomfortable by his gaze, and he made frequent use of that effect to turn aside annoying questions.

Jaina didn’t seem put off by it. “On what?”

“On the state of our relationship. When last we met, you would gladly have burnt me to ash.”

“Can you blame me?”

“No,” he said honestly. “You may recall that I predicted it, and was fully prepared to accept the consequences.”

“But why?” Jaina’s face furrowed with distress. “That's the part I can't figure out. She killed you. You must have known that was a possibility.”

“I did.” He remembered the fleeting moment he'd had, hurtling through the air from Sylvanas’ killing blow. There had been no surprise in his thoughts. Only regrets.

“Then why do it at all?”

Nathanos tensed. The answers she was asking for were more dangerous than she realized. Too much information could kill as quickly as too little. “Have you told her yet?”

To her credit, Jaina didn't pretend not to understand. “No.”

“Why not?”

“You know why not. She would react badly.” Jaina’s lips thinned. “Does anyone else know? Besides you and Shaw?”

“No. You have not told Anduin?”

“Light. No. He's much too...transparent.”

Good. If her words could be believed, then Jaina Proudmoore was a woman who could be trusted with secrets.

“So, why? What do you get out of this?” She rose and crossed the room to loom over him, hand tightening on her staff. “You have a reputation. They say you are a soulless, empty shell animated by cruelty. They call you pathetic. Sylvanas’ dog. A vicious mongrel who bites all hands but your mistress’.”

It was nothing that he hadn't heard before. Nathanos stared at the far wall, willing his expression to show nothing but disdain.

She bent her face close to his. “But two people whose judgment I trust have seen a different side to you, Blightcaller. So. Tell me. Why?”

The mage had shown herself to be circumspect. Perhaps this was a burden that he would not regret sharing. “Sylvanas...needed something. For a time, I didn’t know what it was, or how I would obtain it for her. Once I realized what it was, many years ago, I thought I would be the one to supply her need. But death had changed me, and changed her. I was no longer capable of such…emotional depths. When she came to me with her bargain, I realized that you were what she needed, and I hoped that you would be the one who could save her from herself.” _And us from her_. “Was I wrong?”

“Time will tell,” Jaina said evasively. “Anduin told me some things about her, things that change what I…” Her lips thinned. “I’m still trying to decide what I want to do.” She straightened. “Why should you care so much for someone who cares so little for you?”

“I understand her rage. When we yet breathed, we gave everything in the defense of our homelands. And then we were lost to the enemy." Nathanos couldn't quite suppress a shudder at the memory of the degradation and madness that he had suffered. It was only the thankfully vague nature of those memories that allowed him to keep his sanity. "When we...regained control of our minds and wills, we found ourselves abandoned by everything that we had loved and served and died to protect."

"Forsaken." Jaina nodded. "I am aware of your history." Her gaze dropped. "Until Derek came back to me, it had never occurred to me what an injustice that was. I thought that your people were empty shells, containing nothing of the humans whose bodies they animated." Her gaze returned to Nathanos'. "I'm sorry. I wish things might have been different. Now that I understand. All those people…what they had to go through."

"Sylvanas felt that betrayal more keenly than most, because she felt it not only for herself but for every one of us. She was always like that, taking on the burdens of others. The weight of it changed her. Her hate for the living was not born of contempt in the beginning, but of betrayal."

Jaina stared at the table, lost in thought, her brows pressed together and the line of her mouth tight. “It wasn’t just the living she took it out on. I’ve seen how she treats you. You’re not a meek man, Blightcaller, not even on a good day. Why do you put up it?”

“I owed her for freeing me from the Scourge. And my service to her was...a habit of long standing.”

“But that has changed,” Jaina guessed. “Hasn't it? You haven't bothered to tell her that you were restored. You no longer seem inclined to defend her.”

“My debt to her has been discharged.” Nathanos could feel something in him screaming a denial. There was a strong and vocal part of him which still wanted to be the Nathanos who served his Dark Lady. It had been his identity for so long. But an oath was never meant to be one-sided, and she had broken all the oaths that she had once sworn to him.

“I think that's for the best, Blightcaller,” Jaina told him frankly. “Your relationship always seemed...unhealthy to me. Sylvanas demands devotion, but she doesn't respond well to it. You have to be able to stand up to her.”

Something in Nathanos cringed back from her words. They exposed the raw places inside him. He had given her everything. And she had thrown it away, as if it was worth nothing to her. The more he surrendered, the more she despised him. “I think our discussion has come to an end. Unless you feel there is more unfinished business between us?”

“Do your best to help Derek, and I will consider it even between us, Blightcaller. No,” she amended. “I'll owe you. However misguided your methods were, you risked a great deal and asked for nothing in return. You deserve credit for that. For what it's worth, I'm glad you're not dead.” She extended her hand. “Peace, Lord Blightcaller?”

He took her small, warm hand in one of his. “Peace, then. Although I must rely on you to help keep my loyalties from coming into conflict.” _She’s your responsibility now. Fates help us all if you fail_.

“I'll do my best,” she said thoughtfully. “Good day.”

He stood for a long moment after the door had closed behind her, considering what had just happened. Could it really be so simple? Shaw would have found it amusing. _Just talk to people, Blightcaller. You’d be amazed at how effective that is as a strategy_.

If only the wounds torn in Shaw’s life could be so easily healed. He had lost everything that once gave his existence meaning and Nathanos had nothing to offer him in its place. Shaw would have to reinvent himself and fashion a new purpose for his future.

Whatever he needed, Nathanos promised silently, he would give. He owed Shaw that much.

Only time would tell if it would be enough.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Horde is drifting toward a better relationship with the Alliance. Things are changing for the better, for Nathanos, Shaw and Yurig. But something's coming, that will threaten their new-found peace and shatter their plans for the future.

“Please. Have a seat, Lord Admiral.” Nathanos stood, wary and respectful, watching the Kul Tiran mage who had just entered the room. He had been summoned to Orgrimmar two days ago. The envelope had also included an official document gifting him the apartment on the strip, authorized by the war council, apparently. A curt note, signed by Saurfang and several others, including the goblin responsible for council expenses. No explanation. It was a thing that roused his curiosity, and a fair amount of apprehension. Were they planning on confiscating Stonecliff? “You wanted to speak to me?” Yurig and Shaw were at the alchemist’s guild, and weren’t due back for hours. Nathanos hoped Jaina hadn’t brought ill tidings that would cause major disruptions in their lives.

Jaina gave a wave of her hand. There was a tightness about her eyes; she looked emotionally exhausted. “I’ve been sitting all day. Hashing out details with Saurfang and…” She gave a small snort. “I just thought…you should be one of the first to hear what’s going on. So you can tell Mathias. Saurfang publicly accused Sylvanas of dishonoring the Horde. He demanded that she step down as warchief. She…was going to force him to declare Mak’gora but I told her that if she killed Saurfang, I’d avenge him.” Her eyes were like chips of blue ice.

“I imagine she didn’t take that well.”

“About what you might expect. This is so fucked up, Blightcaller. I really should be pissed off at you for involving me in your problems. If it wasn’t for Anduin…and Shaw…”

“I didn’t feel I had much choice.” Shaw was no longer in Sylvanas’ possession, and Nathanos regretted nothing that he had done to accomplish that task.

“I understand that, now. Anduin told me what happened. What she did to Mathias, and what she threatened to do. She gave him to you and demanded that you do the same thing to me as she did to him.” She shuddered. “Mathias said I owed you a debt. He felt pretty strongly about not wanting you to be villainized for giving in to her demands. Not sure I completely agree with that, but I can’t deny that you’ve tried to do the best you could in a situation where you had few options.”

Nathanos blinked at her. Shaw had defended him? To Jaina Proudmoore? Even after all that he had done to the man? An unfamiliar warmth ignited inside him. He stood for a moment, just savoring it.

The man he had been a year ago would have rejected the emotion as weakness. _What have you made of me, Mathias Shaw_? “Their sentiments are unexpected.”

Jaina gazed at him for a long moment. “I've known Mathias Shaw for many years. I always knew I could trust him to back me up when I needed someone of skill and integrity. He has supported me through some of the worst moments of my life.” Her gaze dropped. “When I saw him in your power...I saw how badly broken he was, and heard you declare that you would never give him up, that you planned to keep him as your property forever…” Her expression hardened. “I vowed that I would destroy you. To the Void with the cost. When Sylvanas killed you, I spat on your corpse, Blightcaller. I've never hated anyone that much. Not since Garrosh dropped the Bell on Anduin.”

She leaned against the wall, tipping her head back and scowling at the ceiling. “It's hard to stop that sort of hate, once it gets started.”

Nathanos nodded. It was not a state that he had experienced, at least not to any great degree, but he was quite familiar with its effects. “I have damaged him,” Nathanos admitted. “But...I do not believe it was my wish to do so.”

“You sound like Sylvanas. Is that a Forsaken thing? How can you be effective at anything that involves people if you can't even understand, let alone face, yourself? You don’t _believe_ you wished to harm him? You ought to know at least that much, Blightcaller.”

She was right. There was much about himself that he did not understand, and had never wished to know. But being required to take responsibility for Shaw’s condition had forced him to learn, and in doing so he had discovered a hidden thirst in himself. There was much about the world that he had become interested in exploring, lately. “It is hardly likely to come up. My public role requires little more than a bit of posturing and the occasional assassination.”

“Well that's about to change.” Jaina’s grin was vicious. “Saurfang is now warchief as well as high overlord. He told the war council that it was time for things to change, that this wasn’t the first time a warchief had dishonored or damaged the Horde. They are stripping most of the power of warchief and investing it in the Horde Affairs Council, which will be responsible for making and enforcing Horde policies, and for settling interracial disputes, and for looking after the welfare of all Horde citizens. The position of warchief will only involve tactics and strategy during wartime, which is really all a warchief ought to be doing, to my way of thinking. They're all in Grommash Hold now, arguing out the details.”

“I have not yet heard anything that would suggest major changes to my life.”

Jaina snorted. “Each major race will be represented by two beings of that race, selected by a vote cast by the adult members of that group. All representatives will have a single vote, except the high overlord, who gets two in the case of a tied vote.”

“Daring. That sounds a bit messy. Trial by combat is fairly easy to resolve, but voting…how are they going to make sure everyone votes? And which groups will be included? There are orcs and trolls scattered all over both continents, in Kul Tiras…”

“Only those in Kalimdor and Silvermoon, I think. Honestly, I have my doubts as to how well this is going to work. The voting, I mean. The council is selecting the initial representatives, until actual voting can take place, if it ever does. Anduin talked Saurfang into it.” She shook her head and a fond smile pulled up the corner of her mouth. “Saurfang wasn’t enthusiastic, he said the Horde wasn’t ready to be a democracy, but he let Anduin talk him round. Still, giving the council more power and guaranteeing that no single person or race can dominate it…it’s a step in the right direction, I think.”

“Are they…corresponding? He and Saurfang?”

“No need. I open up a private portal for them and then chaperone their meetings. Anduin wasn’t too pleased with that, but, as I told him, I’m his aunt, not his subject.” She sniffed.

“I suppose it could work, with strong enough support from the council. The tauren and the blood elves already have a good basis for accepting a democracy. The orcs, not so much. The goblins will vote with coin, of course. And the Forsaken...will still be led by Sylvanas, who will continue to rule them. It is doubtful that anything would shake their loyalty to her.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard. In the Undercity, isn’t there a group called the Desolate Council?”

“There is. But Sylvanas has…neutralized them, to some extent. Those who she hasn’t killed.”

“You should talk to them. Now that you are on the Horde council…”

“Ah. That would be the piece that your explanation was missing. They are offering me a position on the council? I would have thought my reputation would exclude me from consideration.” As Jaina had mentioned earlier, the living considered him nothing more than an extension of Sylvanas’ arm. Her disgrace should have been his as well.

“Saurfang was insistent that you be appointed. For now, Sylvanas is still going to be representing the Forsaken, by the way. They almost voted her out, but she threatened to withdraw the Forsaken from the Horde.”

“That would have been a disaster.” A disaster for the Forsaken. Without the protection of the Horde they would be hunted down and killed on both continents. There was no place to flee to.

Jaina nodded. “Saurfang is aware of that, and he does take his responsibilities to your people seriously. He persuaded the council to confirm her nomination and then browbeat them into voting the way he wanted.” She snorted. “Not very democratic, but I can’t find it in me to complain right now.” Her expression sobered. “We need his strength.”

“In any case, if they choose to proceed with this democratic process, the Forsaken would have voted her back in. They must have realized that.”

“Yes. Obviously. But Saurfang was hoping that you would make good use of your new authority in the interim. Talk to the Desolate Council. I’m sure she’s made no friends there; it wouldn't be difficult for you to slip in and take the reins in Forsaken matters. Quietly. And make yourself a major player on the Horde council. They can help you deal with racial issues; the Forsaken don’t have to be isolated and bullied, the way they have been.”

Nathanos gave her a cynical look. “I doubt that I will ever end up as anything more than an annoyance to most of them. Not that being an annoyance doesn’t have its pleasures.” He was even less respected than Sylvanas, among the Horde. Sylvanas had made certain of it. Though much of the responsibility could be laid at his own door; he had made no attempt to endear himself to them. He’d used Sylvanas as an excuse for his own shortcomings, he could admit that now.

“Oh, you're not too popular right now, that’s true. But you've got Shaw on your staff and nobody understands manipulation better than he. He's gone toe to toe with Rommath and Kael’thas on the propaganda front and quite neatly outmaneuvered them a time or two. I think, if you'll set aside your arrogance and prejudice and rely on his expertise, you could end up in a position of some influence.”

The heavy weight of his reputation was likely to be his major challenge. Whatever he was for, Saurfang and the others were certain to disapprove of. “I doubt my efforts would prove very effective.”

“You don't have to be effective, Blightcaller. Not at first. You just have to have your head pointing in the right direction. Sylvanas was effective, but she always drove the Horde in the wrong direction. Take a stand with Saurfang and hold your ground, and for the Light’s sake, listen to Shaw.”

“Will there be any Alliance representation on the council?”

Jaina snorted. “Officially...no. But Anduin plans to stay in touch with Saurfang, and Baine is strongly sympathetic to the Alliance already, and I suspect whoever the other tauren representative is will be as well.”

“It is not a situation that will be popular with the more militant members of the Horde. I don’t think they’ll approve of the name change.”

“Oh, the old war council will still exist. But it’s headed by the warchief and will only meet in times of war. Everything else will be handled by the affairs council.”

“The war council won’t like that,” Nathanos repeated.

“No. But with Saurfang supporting it, we’ll have their support...however grudgingly given.”

“We?”

“You.” Jaina gave a soft snort. “Listen to me. Getting all wrapped up with Horde politics.” She gave a sigh, and the weariness returned to her posture. “That just leaves me with the problem of Sylvanas.”

“You are still willing to consider her your problem?”

“I don’t have much of a choice. If I walk away, there’s no telling what she’ll do. For now…she is clinging to me. Manipulating me, yes, I know it. But I know who she is now, so her manipulations aren’t as effective.” Jaina shook her head. “I’m willing to give her what she has asked for. For Anduin’s sake. He wants Saurfang to succeed, and that requires Sylvanas’ cooperation, for now.”

“What has she asked for?” What could Jaina possibly offer the banshee, to make her agree to give up her power?

“She says she wants the chance to redeem herself.”

“Do you believe her?” It didn’t sound like the Sylvanas that Nathanos had known for so many years.

Jaina shrugged. “Probably not. I don’t think she believes it. But she thinks it’s what I want to hear, and for now, I’m willing to let the lie stand. I need to find out who she is. And if she can be…” her eyes fastened on Nathanos. “She's not sorry for what she did. Not yet. But I'm working on it. What you said to me before, about Shaw. Changing you. How did he do it?”

Nathanos thought back to his first meeting with Shaw. Bloodied, but not quite broken. But it had not started then, had it? It was a thing that had grown between them for years. “There was something in him that I...desired. Craved. Something that could not be taken, only freely given. I didn’t understand that until almost too late. Perhaps she feels that as well, for you. It may be difficult for you to see, but there was good in her at one time. But she let the rot take her. As did I. My reputation is not undeserved. The man I was five years ago would not have scrupled to carry to carry out Sylvanas’ orders to the letter. If I am better than I was, I have Shaw to thank for that.” [ _You’re not such a bastard, are you, Blightcaller_?]

Jaina took in a long breath, and then exhaled. “I hope you're right, Blightcaller. Good luck to you and Master Shaw. Every representative will be allowed one aide during council meetings. I suggest you make him yours.”

“He is. Mine.” An elusive possession, but valued.

“That's a ship that sails fore and aft, if you know what's good for you. He's not someone you can keep by clenching your fists. He'll slip away from you. I've known the man for many years.”

 _He is not the man you knew_. It was on the tip of Nathanos’ tongue to tell her as much, but better that he not reduce Shaw in her eyes. Shaw deserved what little privacy Nathanos could give him. At least until he was strong enough to step out into what he would become. He nodded. “I'll keep your advice in mind.”

“And I yours.”

* * *

In the weeks since Nathanos’ resurrection, life had become quite pleasingly routine. Other than the human infestation, of course, but that was a fairly solvable problem. Shaw had persuaded him to petition for the Alliance prisoners to be transferred to Nathanos’ dungeons, and from there it was only a matter of time before they found their way into the kitchen and laundry and stable yard, performing menial tasks which were, obviously, an improvement on their previous jobs, which had mostly involved sitting on dirty straw shackled to the wall and occasionally being put on display.

He'd put Shaw in charge of making sure none of them escaped. Not that he particularly cared if they'd escaped, but Shaw cared, both because chances were overwhelming that they would end up dead very quickly out in the barren dust of Durotar, and because Nathanos would be held to account for any missing prisoners.

The newly created Horde Affairs Council met every two weeks, for the moment. At first, it had been every day, and it had been chaos. Everyone had a different idea of how the “vision” of the new Horde Council should be accomplished. Shaw had been unable to tolerate the position to which Nathanos had hoped to appoint him. Being in the same room with Sylvanas was a torment to him, especially since Sylvanas could not resist trying to intimidate him. On the day of the first official meeting of the council, her “aide” had been an orc; aides did not have to adhere to racial guidelines.

It was a direct dig at Nathanos, or Shaw. Either way, Nathanos had immediately dismissed Shaw and replaced him with Yurig. Such an action would have generated a fair amount of ill will with the war council, which had been dominated by orcs. The old Nathanos would have enjoyed the spectacle, but now the situation only roused Nathanos’ anger. He had seethed, trying to figure out some way to force Sylvanas to cease tormenting his aide, but could think of no way to accomplish that without exposing Shaw’s situation and history.

What surprised him the most was the way that Saurfang simmered with barely contained fury, and the next time the council met, Sylvanas was alone. Apparently, the orc had been reassigned to a distant post. There was nothing more specific said on the subject, for which Nathanos was grateful on Shaw’s behalf.

The orc was never replaced, and eventually Sylvanas declared that the council was entirely too dull to be worth her time, and abandoned her attendance of it. Nathanos was tasked with finding a substitute, which he did; Thomas Zelling, who he had always considered a man of principle and good sense.

After that, Shaw stood behind Nathanos’ shoulder in his Shroud, making quiet suggestions and adding the occasional observation while the council members argued. The man had a wicked sense of humor, when he allowed it to surface. Nathanos had been forced to disguise a bark of laughter as a cough so many times most of the council probably thought his throat was beginning to rot. When all the dust had finally settled, Nathanos found himself in the Foreign Affairs Liaison committee with Saurfang and a troll named Zekhan. Baine had been excluded from that responsibility; his Alliance sympathies were too well known, and it was apparent that the anti-Alliance contingent expected Nathanos to weigh in heavily on their side. It was still a well-kept secret that his aide was human, not Forsaken. Much to his surprise and dismay, Nathanos was also given charge of Internal Security, on the generally well-known fact that he despised everyone equally. A fact that he still took pains to foster, on Shaw’s advice. And honestly, it wasn’t all that far from the truth, so perhaps it had been a good choice.

* * *

Shaw had spoken before the council on the subject of a possible ransom or prisoner exchange. As Nathanos’ ‘aide’ he was entitled to bring matters before the council. The tauren were amenable, the trolls indifferent, the goblins wanted money, the elves and orcs’ votes were divided. Saurfang’s opinions had been surprisingly diplomatic. He’d made points both for and against, but the arguments against had somehow lacked substance. Nathanos wondered if he had exchanged correspondence with Anduin beforehand; he thought some of Saurfang’s phrasing was suspiciously eloquent. He himself had made the rather cynical argument that he’d just as soon get them out from underfoot, as they were crowding his dungeons and costing him a great deal to feed. One of the trolls bitingly suggested that Nathanos could simply open the doors and let them ‘stampede out into the welcoming arms of the scorpions and harpies’ and that would take care of the problem.

Nathanos’ argument had been crafted by Shaw. It wouldn’t do to let himself seem too pro-Alliance, Shaw had argued, especially not at this critical phase where opinions would be developing and alliances made. The truth was, Nathanos simply wanted them gone. It angered him the way the humans glared at Shaw with murderous hatred. He repeatedly advised Shaw to delegate the actual task of capturing escaped prisoners to Nathanos’ Forsaken, to not make himself a target for their vengeance, but Shaw had a decidedly masochistic streak that he couldn't manage to shake.

 _I have to supervise, or the guards will hurt them_ , he always insisted.

Nathanos always reminded him that such an event could serve as a deterrent against the next escape, but Shaw was having nothing of it. He walked among them unafraid, asking after their wounds and their needs even when they spat on him or attacked him.

Not that he would consider admitting it to Shaw, but Nathanos’ heart swelled with pride as he watched Shaw grow stronger, more self-confident. The spymaster was making plans to start his own spy training operation, based at Stonecliff, which was why Nathanos wanted the prisoners of war gone quickly. The two groups probably would not interact well. It would be more of an internal spy operation, spies who spied on the spies. And everyone else. Their purpose would be to seek out wrongdoing within the Horde and bring it to the attention of a higher power. It was Shaw's compromise with his own complicated loyalties.

Shaw had already converted Nathanos’ library to a map and meeting room and had padded mats placed wall to wall in one of the keep’s larger rooms for martial training. He had a list of all necessary chemical ingredients for poisons and various other drugs, and he and Chiyong had plans for expanding her lab. Yurig wanted nothing to do with the effort, he had no interest in espionage or spying, but Lena had warmed to the idea immediately, and had persuaded Shaw to include her in his plans.

Then, one day, a note was delivered summoning Nathanos to Orgrimmar, to meet with Saurfang. Yurig insisted on accompanying his lord, and Shaw invited himself along, ostensibly to shop for alchemical supplies.

* * *

“A ship full of Freehold Pirates?”

“That's what they claim.” Saurfang seemed amused. “They sailed up, bold as brass, and docked right next to the _Banshee’s Wail_. Their captain swaggered through the gates of Orgrimmar, demanding to speak to whoever was in charge. I was in a good mood, so I decided not to kill him on the spot.” He snorted. “It turns out that he came bearing gifts. Two of our Drustvar spies. They had been taken by the Kul Tirans and were being shipped to Stormwind when the Freeholders boarded them. They decided to use their windfall to buy their way into my good graces.”

“They might prove useful,” Nathanos remarked.

“True. Providing they aren't Alliance spies posing as Freeholders. I want you to send Shaw in to snoop around on their ship. Get a good look at the crew and rifle through their papers. Tonight, while most of them are too busy drinking to get in the way. The exercise will be good for him.”

“And if they turn out to be spies?”

“Then we use them, of course,” Saurfang shrugged. “They will be eager to prove themselves. We can probably get more than a few spies returned. Once they stop being useful, we can simply impound their ship.”

Nathanos nodded. “As you command, warchief.” He would never have admitted it openly, but having Saurfang in charge was a source of tremendous relief to him. If Sylvanas had still been warchief, there was no telling how she would have reacted. The orc’s judgement was not always civilized by Nathanos’ standards, but it least he was willing to exercise it these days, Nathanos mused. He left the hall in search of Shaw.

* * *

“You want me to snoop around a ship to figure out whether they're Freeholders or Alliance?” Shaw snorted. “I don't even have to snoop. Just get downwind. Unless they're all SI:7 and then things get tricky. Their attention to detail is better.” His gaze became thoughtful. “I'm not sure what my official status would be with Renzik these days.”

The sun had long since dropped below the horizon. The stars were out, glimmering against a cloudless expanse of darkness. A warm summer breeze carried with it the mingled scent of beer and stew, and the subdued sounds of the mildly inebriated patrons of the Pirate's Den, the goblin bar that the Freeholders reportedly preferred.

“Don't take chances,” Nathanos told him. “If there's any sign of deception…”

“I hardly think a ship of pirates is going to prove a challenge,” Shaw said testily. “My skills may be rusty, Blightcaller, but I can manage.”

“If indeed they are pirates…”

Shaw shrugged. “If they’re SI:7 or Alliance, the worst they’ll do is kick me off their ship. You probably shouldn't linger here; your presence will scare them off. From your account they should start arriving soon. I'll wait until the Den fills up, then trot off to case their ship.” He gave Nathanos a severe look. “Kindly do not express concern for my safety again, Blightcaller. It's insulting.”

Nathanos gave him an indulgent look. “Off with you, then. I'll see you back at the apartment.”

* * *

Shaw had been gone for five hours. Nathanos had sent Yurig to bed; he listened to the sound of the tauren’s grumbling snores and tried to convince himself that he was overreacting.

_He managed to navigate far more perilous waters than these for most of his life. A ship full of pirates hardly constitutes a threat to Mathias Shaw._

_Anyone can make a mistake. Or have an accident._

_This simply won't do_ , Nathanos told himself firmly. He stared out the window, watching the inhabitants of the Strip stagger or stroll past. The light that spilled out from the doorways and windows illuminated their faces. Tauren with their powerful frames and expressive ears. Goblins on their short legs, displaying grinning mouthfuls of sharp teeth. Trolls loped past, their lanky bodies dangling with ornaments. Orcs, arrogant and self-confident.

He would miss this when he went back to Stonecliff, Nathanos realized. The time spent staring out the window, watching people go by. Shaw could usually be counted on to spin a good story about each one, although Nathanos had learned the man had a hidden sense of fancy which occasionally made it inadvisable to take his observations at face value.

Nathanos was seeing the world differently, through Shaw's eyes. It was hard to say if that was a thing to be appreciated or lamented. But, good or bad, it was a thing that should be acknowledged. Shaw had taught him that.

At first, Nathanos had planned on keeping Shaw close, at Stonecliff. His recruits would come to him, participate in his training programs and be sent off. Shaw would direct them from Stonecliff. The spymaster, spinning out his webs, listening to the subtle tugs of his lines. But even as he planned, Nathanos had taken heed of Proudmoore’s warning, and realized that having reacquired his taste for living, Shaw would no longer be content to spend his days idle at Stonecliff. It had never been his way.

He would have to be put to work. For a man with his skill set, that would mean sending him out into potentially dangerous situations. It would be...difficult. But if Nathanos suffered pain in order to restore Shaw's pleasure in living, it was only fitting.

The door clicked open and a man stepped inside. Nathanos tensed until he identified Shaw's features. He waited, knowing Shaw would be able to make out his silhouette against the backdrop of the Strip’s glow.

Shaw stood, frozen, almost seeming not to draw breath. His face was rigid, and as bone white as a corpse’s. He made no attempt to speak, but only stared at Nathanos with his shattered gaze.

“Shaw? Has something happened?” Nathanos rose quickly to his feet.

Shaw's breathing quickened and came unevenly, rasping in the darkness. Obviously, something traumatic had occurred. Had he been attacked by orcs? Or accosted by Sylvanas? Nathanos couldn't think of anything else that could have had this powerful an effect on the man. He cautiously crossed the floor, his eyes fixed on Shaw.

Shaw took a step back from his approach. “We have a deal, don't we, Blightcaller? And I've always kept my part. Haven't I?”

“You have.” Shaw argued when he thought Nathanos was wrong, and he wielded sarcasm as adroitly as his daggers, but he had never refused a direct command from Nathanos, no matter how difficult or painful its execution had been.

“Then tell the ship's captain that they will have to leave port first thing tomorrow. Tell them not to come back. Ever. Threaten them with the worst thing you can think of.” Shaw's voice was so tight, he barely seemed able to choke the words out.

“Why? Who is on the ship?” Nathanos didn't bother asking if the crew was Freehold or Alliance; a ship full of pirates would hardly stir up this much emotion in Shaw. _Is that idiot boy playing games again?_ Surely not; he’d not jeopardize his aunt’s good will with something that foolish. Greymane? It made no sense.

“I have never asked you for anything before, Blightcaller. Not anything important. But I am asking now. Send them away, and don't ask me any further questions.”

The last of the pieces fell into place. There was only one ship and crew that Shaw would be fighting so hard for. “It's the _Middenwake_ , isn't it? She didn't sink after all.”

“You knew about that.” It wasn't a question. “I figured you did. You didn't manage to replace the ink pad at quite the same angle after you went through the contents of my drawer.”

“I knew, yes.”

“But you never said anything.”

“I...didn't want to intrude on your private grief, Shaw.”

“If my grief means anything to you...if **I** mean anything to you,” Shaw said hoarsely, “then let him go, Blightcaller. Chase them off, without bloodshed.”

“I doubt he'll go easily.” A man who was determined enough to sail into the enemy's jaws, as this one had, would not be persuaded to simply turn tail. “Which one is he? The captain?”

“Please, Blightcaller. I'm begging you. I've made no attempt to see him or talk to him, I swear to you…”

“Why not?”

“Why the hell do you think not?!” Shaw choked. His eyes were wild with pain. “This cannot end badly, Blightcaller. It must not.”

Nathanos wished Yurig was awake. He wanted to touch Shaw, to do something to alleviate the man’s distress, but he knew that wasn't an option. Not until this thing was settled. Yurig would have known what to say, what to do. “There's no reason it has to. What is his name, Shaw?”

“You don't need to know his name,” Shaw argued desperately. “Just send the whole damned ship away.”

“His name, Shaw. You might as well tell me; it shouldn't be difficult for me to figure it out,” Nathanos insisted, trying to make his voice soothing. What was Shaw frightened of? Was he afraid Nathanos would kill his lover in a jealous rage? “I don't intend harm to the man.”

“Please. Just send the ship away.”

“His name,” Nathanos said softly.

Helpless rage welled up in Shaw's eyes. “We had a deal, Blightcaller. You gave me your word!”

“I’m not refusing your request. Yet,” Nathanos said mildly. “His name, Shaw, before I tire of asking.”

Like a punctured airship, Shaw sagged to the ground. “Flynn Fairwind. Captain Flynn Fairwind.” His hands dropped to his sides, trailing limply on the ground, shoulders hunched. Barely breathing, as if the life had left him with the speaking of his lover's name.

It was a name that Nathanos recognized. The man had been a thorn in the side of the Horde, slipping in and stealing Azerite away right from under their noses, over and over. He’d been reported in many ports, some of them Horde-held, and in connection with several covert Alliance actions. He apparently got into trouble everywhere he went but always managed to talk or wiggle his way free. A clever man, or at least a very lucky one. It explained why Shaw had been so determined to keep his identity a secret.

... _a ship of pirates, sailing up and down the coast of Stranglethorn, the presence of a gryphon giving lie to their appearance_...

… _a ship of pirates haunting the eastern coastal waters of Kalimdor but apparently never performing any actual acts of piracy_ …

He remembered a number of reports sent to him over the course of the last year, all describing a ship of the same class and tonnage and general design. It must have been the _Middenwake_ , Nathanos realized. Searching for Shaw?

Curiosity nudged at Nathanos. What sort of man was Captain Flynn Fairwind? It would be best to assess the man personally, before developing a strategy for sending him away. Relatively unharmed, if that was possible, for Shaw’s sake.

“Please don't tell him…” Shaw huddled on the floor, knees pulled up against his body. “Don't let him know that I know he's come for me. Don’t tell him that I refused to see him.”

Nathanos was fairly certain that would be a mistake. If the captain was sent away thinking Shaw ignorant of his presence, it would only encourage the man to return. But perhaps Shaw knew his lover better. In any case, it would not harm anything to give in to Shaw’s request, if it would give the man comfort. “I won’t tell him that you know.”

“Tell him I’m dead, if you must. It won’t be much of a lie.”

Gone was the animated, cautiously optimistic Shaw who had been with Nathanos only hours ago…replaced by one who was much closer in demeanor to the empty eyed man with whom Nathanos had made his bargain. The one who had accepted and drank a bottle of poison with the barest of hesitation.

“I’ll send him away for you, Shaw,” Nathanos promised.

Shaw nodded, closed his eyes and let his chin sink down upon his breast. “Thank you.” His voice was barely audible.

Nathanos went to wake Yurig. “Shaw has had…a setback. Do not leave him alone. I’m going to see about setting things right.” Let Shaw decide how much he wanted to tell Yurig of the situation.

“Yes, my lord.”

Nathanos drew a hooded cloak about his shoulders and headed off for the docks.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw has discovered that Flynn Fairwind is alive, shattering the fragile peace that he had managed to attain under Nathanos and Yurig’s care. Nathanos is now faced with the problem of what to do about the captain and his ship.

The dockmaster, Urt Grimsteel, reported that only one human had been removed from the Freehold ship since it had docked and been taken charge of by Horde soldiers. Nicolai Windchaser. A chattering parrot of a man who was apparently their captain, and who was being found equal parts entertaining and annoying, depending on who you asked. After a day spent being questioned by the warchief, the man had been returned and Urt had been given orders to allow the ship’s crew to disembark for shore leave, though always with an escort. Aside from the captain, only the goblin portion of the crew had taken advantage of the offer, but apparently those half dozen goblins had cut quite a swath in the city with their gold and their noisy exuberance.

Their captain had visited all the bars in the city over the course of a single day. A man who wasted no time, Nathanos noted. “I’d like to speak to the soldier who escorted the human about the city,” he told Urt.

The orc straightened. “That would be me, Lord Blightcaller,” he told Nathanos. Since his election to the council, Nathanos had noticed a positive change in attitude toward his presence, among the orcs and trolls, at least. He wondered if Saurfang had anything to do with that. He and the orc were getting along tolerably well these days.

“What did the human do all night?”

Urt scratched his head. Apparently, the question puzzled him. “Drank a lot. Told a lot of stories. His Orcish had a goblin accent. Started singing after a while. Bunch of rhyming songs that all ended with somebody having sex.”

“Did he ask any questions?”

“Oh, yeah, he was full of them. He wanted to know what orcs used to brush their teeth and if tauren wore socks inside their boots and whether undead had…” he broke off and coughed. “He was full of questions.”

Nathanos frowned. It didn’t sound like the man had any interest in Shaw. Perhaps Shaw had been mistaken? Nathanos wasn’t certain if this was a condition to be hoped for or not. “Did he ask about any particular people?”

Urt’s brow furrowed. “Don’t remember. Maybe. He said he was looking for a friend…”

Aha. “Did he mention the friend’s name?”

“No. Said the man was a human. I told him we don’t let humans just run about here, but there were prisoners. He wanted to see them.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I said there were all at…” Urt’s shoulders hunched. “I ask forgiveness if I have offended. I told him that the human prisoners were all at Stonecliff.”

It sounded as if Urt had been quite thoroughly talked round by the man. Nathanos found himself even more intrigued. And he had been handed the perfect opportunity. “Did he express a desire to travel to Stonecliff and see for himself?”

“Yes, Lord Blightcaller. But I told him that…it would need to be approved. By somebody important.”

Nathanos let his expression grow severe. “You overstep yourself, Dockmaster. But we will say no more of this. It so happens that I would be willing to meet the man and discuss his request. Where is he?”

“On the ship. He’s already been let out for his run once this night.” Urt looked uncomfortable.

“You may fetch him now. Do not tell him that you and I have spoken, only let the information drop that the master of Stonecliff has come to town and is currently drinking in…the Thirsty Kodo.” It was a small tauren bar near the Broken Tusk, not popular, so it would be quiet enough. “Allow him to persuade you to bring him there. Then I will take responsibility for him and you may leave us.”

Urt didn’t look happy about the prospect.

“I will see that he is returned to his ship,” Nathanos told him, with a warning frown.

“Yes, Lord Blightcaller.”

The orc left, and Nathanos headed for the gates of Orgrimmar.

* * *

Approximately fifteen minutes after his arrival, the door creaked open and a man strolled into the bar. Human, thick bodied and heavily bearded. His black hair jutted out behind him in a jaunty horsetail. A long, brown coat partly concealed his cross-belt sheaths, dagger and cutlass banging against his thighs with every step.

Nathanos examined the man’s reflection in the mirror behind the bar counter. If this was Captain Flynn Fairwind, his appearance had been altered. The reports sent to Nathanos detailing the man’s Azerite piracy had included several sketches. The man who had just arrived had black hair, not brown, and his facial hair obviously hadn’t seen the sharp edge of a razor in some time. It was a laughably simple disguise, rendered ineffective by the large and fairly distinctive nose which the Captain possessed. Had he not known what to look for, Fairwind’s appearance probably wouldn’t have attracted his attention, but Nathanos was in no doubt as to the man’s identity.

Fairwind approached the bar. “Hmm.” His blue eyes traveled over the other patrons at their tables. Most of them were hunched over their beers, some of them weeping, which was the traditional tauren reaction to being inebriated. It was one of the reasons Nathanos seldom encouraged Yurig to drink anything stronger than beer.

The human looked a bit taken aback at the sight. He scratched his head and then leaned back against the bar, arms crossed. “Is this a bar or a wake?” he asked, one of his eyebrows sharply quirked.

A couple of the tauren looked up at him curiously. A few looked as if they were seriously pondering the question.

“Drinks around for my sad friends,” Captain Flynn Fairwind announced with a laugh, tossing down a handful of gold in front of the bartender. “My friends! This is a day for…err…celebration…singing…tall tales and laughter! And drinking, of course,” he added almost reflectively. “Not much point, otherwise, eh?”

That generated some interest. A young tauren with a coat so dark it was almost black settled his elbows on the table and peered at the captain. “Then sing something, human,” he invited.

A mug of amber colored ale was set on the counter; Fairwind took a long, deep drink. His eyes darted out to fix on Nathanos, who kept his back to the spectacle, content to observe using the mirror. “A song, then. A man of the sea always has a song handy.” Sweeping his hat from his head and laying it with reverence down on the counter, the human launched into a loud and rather bawdy song about what was in store for sailors lured by mermaids.

His singing was viciously off key; even Nathanos was wincing by the time he had finished. The tauren who had originally requested the song had both ears clutched in his three fingered hands and was pressing them against his head. “No more,” he begged.

“But I must continue!” the captain announced. “You all obviously need to be cheered up. Err...why’s he crying, by the way?” he inquired, gesturing at an elderly tauren whose spotted hide was frosted with silver. Tears were trickling down the tauren’s muzzle and dripping onto the floor.

“The heart of the Earthmother has been pierced,” the tauren moaned. He stared at his empty beer mug with tragic eyes. “She cries out in her pain.”

Several of the other tauren nodded solemnly. A goblin scurried out from behind the bar, struggling beneath the weight of a huge pitcher of ale, refilling mugs and topping off.

Another tauren took up the lament. “Her cries echo in our sleep. Her tears drench our…”

“Yes, yes...very sad business, reminds me of a story,” the captain interrupted with a note of desperation in his voice. “Err…a very ill-aspected man who I once knew, by the name of Vermilion Crump. Once a prosperous merchant with a fleet of seaworthy vessels, brought low in his prime by a series of terrible calamities…”

Nathanos struggled to keep his face neutral as he watched Shaw's ex-pirate work the other patrons of the Thirsty Kodo into states of either extreme amusement or depression. Largely depending on their predilections. Copious amounts of ale flowed as well. Unfortunately for Fairwind, drunken tauren weren't particularly garrulous. If that was what the man had been trying to accomplish, he had wasted his gold.

Finally, after several rounds of drinks and half a dozen stories, the captain brought out what Nathanos assumed was the point of the evening. “By the way, I'm looking to hire a few extra hands on board my ship, the Lost Landlubber. None of you would happen to be sailors out of work, would you?”

Several of the tauren snorted and gave him a skeptical look. “You won't find what you're looking for here,” one of them told him. “We like to keep our feet on the ground.”

“Well...if I was looking for a few humans to fill out my crew, where might I look?” the captain inquired. “Surely there must be some likely candidates. Prisoners of war, experienced sailors, crew taken off ships the Horde has confiscated. Where might they be found?”

The tauren exchanged befuddled looks. “Maybe ask Commander Stonefist?” one of them suggested.

“No...he’s in charge of the barracks,” another contradicted.

Several sets of eyes turned in Nathanos’ direction. One of the tauren cleared his throat. “You might want to…” his voice lowered enough that Nathanos could no longer make out what he was saying, but a grin broke out over the captain's face.

“I'll do just that, then,” he announced. Snatching his hat off the counter, he stalked determinedly in Nathanos’ direction.

It was rather neatly done, Nathanos mused. He lifted his drink up and took a sip, giving no sign that he was aware of Fairwind’s approach.

Fairwind cleared his throat. Loudly. “I understand that I have the honor to be addressing Lord Nathanos Blightcaller?”

“That would seem to be the case.” Nathanos put a hint of frost into his delivery. It wouldn't do to seem too eager for the pirate’s company.

“Captain Nicolai Windchaser, at your service, sir.” Fairwind held out his hand, a wide grin stretching his lips.

Nathanos ignored the hand.

“Yes…well…” Fairwind slid his elbows onto the counter and leaned in, bringing himself into Nathanos’ range of vision. “I understand that you've been tasked with housing a number of Alliance prisoners. Expensive business, I shouldn't doubt. Perhaps we could do each other a solid there, eh, my lord? I'm in need of a few warm bodies to swab my decks, and your warchief has invited me to restock and replenish my ship here. So...what say we do a bit of haggling for, say, three men?” The man gave him what he obviously hoped would be a conspiratorial smile. “Then once we've settled on a price, we can head back to your place and pick out the three you'd most like to be rid of. Win, win, eh mate?”

Nathanos briefly considered the idea of accepting the man’s offer, just for the entertainment value. No doubt he planned to infiltrate Nathanos’ hold, reveal himself to Shaw and lure his lover away from beneath Nathanos’ very nose. But allowing that scenario to play out would be a cruelty that Nathanos had no intention of inflicting on Shaw. “Oh, I don't think we'll have to go all the way to Stonecliff to find what you seek, Captain,” he remarked. He gave Fairwind a lazy smile. “I'm fairly certain that, although what you're looking for used to be found in my prison cells, it has been moved and repurposed.”

A sudden look of alarm was quickly smothered. Fairwind scratched himself behind the ear with a look of faux perplexity written broadly across his features. “Not sure what you're getting at, mate. I'm just looking for…”

“Mathias Shaw,” Nathanos said softly. He took another sip of his drink.

The captain’s ruddy, wind roughened features paled noticeably. “Why would you be thinking I'd have any interest in such a fellow?”

“Perhaps because you’ve been looking for him for months.” Nathanos stared at the captain through half lidded eyes.

“Hmph. Well…d’ye know where he is?”

“As you have probably heard, I have him.”

“Works for you, does he?” Fairwind tossed back the last of his ale with a practiced snap of the wrist.

“Hardly. It would be more accurate to say that he belongs to me.” While Sylvanas might find it more enjoyable to taunt the Alliance leaders with the belief that Shaw had turned traitor, Nathanos could only imagine the level of pain it would cause Shaw to know that his lover believed he'd willingly turned coat.

Flynn stiffened. “Slavery is illegal, mate.”

“Perhaps I misheard. I thought you claimed to be based out of Freehold, Captain Windchaser.” It was well known that anything could be purchased in Freehold, including people. “And here in Kalimdor, it is acceptable to keep humans as slaves.” He gave Flynn a predatory smile. “Which is where you and your men are headed, should I not choose to prevent it. You fall under the jurisdiction of foreign affairs. That gives me authority to deal with your presence.”

“The warchief has given me…”

“The warchief has handed me the authority to determine your fate. He doesn’t trust you, human. And neither do I. So…you’d be advised to get straight to the point of your visit before I lose what little patience I have.”

A thought occurred to him...how beautiful the two of them would be together. In a hot, scented tub, Shaw's slender, pale limbs tangled with the thicker arms of the Kul Turan captain. The Kul Tiran’s calloused fingers fisting Shaw’s cock, Shaw’s fingers tangled in his lover’s hairy pelt. _I could have both of them at the same time, and they would rouse each other._ The experience would be...memorable. “Would you care to bargain for the safety of your crew, Captain?”

Fairwind tapped his empty glass on the bar, and received another, which he rolled back and forth slowly between his fingers as he spoke. “Aye. I'll bargain. I have a load of Azerite, the accumulated cargo of many voyages. I'll trade. For the opportunity to sail away from this place with my crew and Mathias Shaw aboard.”

Nathanos smiled. The pirate was throwing his cards down onto the table early in the game. Probably not a poker player. The sort of man who wears his heart displayed on his sleeve, judging by the expression on his face.

“A load of Azerite, hmm? How much? And what's to stop me from simply taking it?”

“Aw, mate, you don't think I've actually got it on me, do you?” Fairwind guffawed. “Safe place. We can fetch it once we have a deal.”

“What's to stop me from simply taking the location from you?” Nathanos hid a smile at the pirate’s indignant glare.

“About 200 armed savages, mate. Friends of mine. You'd have a fight on your hands.”

“Not if you were there to tell them to lay down their arms.”

“And why would I do that?” Fairwind demanded, slammed his mug down on the counter and drawing himself up. He wasn't unreasonably tall, but the broadness of his chest and the thickness of his arms gave him a threatening air. His hand lightly brushed the basket of his cutlass.

Nathanos’ eyes narrowed. Captain Fairwind had no idea what a tempting target he was making of himself, with his combination of defiance and naked want, surrounded by his enemies. “I could tell you that a word from me would have two dozen Horde soldiers here in a moment.”

“That wouldn't get you what you want. Come on, Blightcaller. I've been collecting it for years. Close to three hundred pounds. It's yours if you give him up.”

Despite himself, Nathanos was intrigued. And dismayed. If the cursed goblins in the finance committee heard about that offer… “Three hundred pounds of Azerite would ransom a king. You must really want Mathias Shaw badly, Captain Windchaser. Why?”

“The man owes me money,” Fairwind sneered.

Nathanos folded his arms and regarded the human with an air of patient skepticism.

Fairwind’s confidence wavered. “Err...well...he does owe me money but...he's a wanted man in Freehold. Badly wanted. The man who brings him in will be treated like a king. Worth more than gold to a pirate like me, eh? So, what do you say?” Fairwind grinned engagingly. “Barkeep... a drink for my mate, here!” he shouted to the tauren behind the bar.

“What would you like, my lord?” asked the bartender.

“Korum’s Fire,” Nathanos told him. It was a troll liqueur with a reputation for wrecking a man if not applied sparingly.

Fairwind’s eyebrows rose as Nathanos took a delicate sip and let the flavor roll across his tongue. “Not as good as the spiced Kul Tiran coffee Shaw serves me, but it will do.”

The color drained out of Fairwind’s face.

“You've been chasing the wind, Captain,” Nathanos told him. “Mathias Shaw belongs to me. Body, soul and will.” He tipped Fairwind a pointed salute. “Though I cannot lay claim to his affections. Alas...poor Shaw. He gave the keeping of his heart to a man who was lost at sea many months ago. I nearly lost him the day he read the harbormaster's report. He drank poison. But I managed to convince him that death would gain him nothing but an eternity of despair.” Nathanos tipped back the glass and downed it. “He really hasn't given me much trouble since that day, Captain Fairwind. I thank you for that,” he set the glass down, “…as well as the drink.”

Fairwind’s hand clenched around the pommel of his sword, fingers gripping it like claws. He seemed shrunken...as if he had suddenly aged a lifetime. “You're a demon, Blightcaller,” he said hoarsely.

“So I've been told.” Nathanos wondered at his own deliberate cruelty. Why did he feel the sudden need to punish the wretched man who trembled before him?

… _a faded piece of paper, the scuffed letters barely legible...Middenwake_ … Fairwind had to have known news of his death would eventually reach Shaw. It had been the killing blow, the loss that had broken the spymaster’s spirit.

The ex-pirate raised his eyes to Blightcaller’s, no longer defiant or proud. There was nothing but defeat written in them. “All right. Looks like you’ve got me over a barrel. What's it going to take to buy him free? I'll get you more. As much as you want,” he said desperately. “I'll move it for you for a lifetime. Only, let me have Shaw for part of my crew.”

Nathanos laughed softly. “Only to have you sail away the moment he's out of my reach? I’m hardly that much of a fool.”

“Then take me for him. Go ahead. Kill me. Make me your slave. I'll move your Azerite for as long as he remains alive and free. Send him back to Stormwind. Let him go.”

The impact of Fairwind’s offer was like a kodo kick to Nathanos’ gut. He wrenched his eyes away, trying to regain his composure. “Shaw would never allow it.”

Fairwind didn't remark on the incongruity of Shaw's approval being a requirement for the bargain. “He wouldn't have to know. Like you said...he thinks I'm dead.”

The two of them, alike in their intent… _don’t let him know I know_ … “Not any longer. He saw your crew and recognized your ship. He had promised Shaw that he wouldn’t tell his lover that he had been seen, but nothing had been said about the ship. And this was something that needed to be made clear.

“You don't have to tell him about our deal,” Fairwind repeated. “Just let him go. I’m a man on my knees, my lord.”

Again, the man's offer was...overwhelmingly tempting. Not to kill him, of course. That would be terrible waste. But to take him as Shaw had been taken…

The two of them would be breathtaking together. Each could be held hostage in perpetuity for the other.

Nathanos gaze down at Shaw's lover. He was not a handsome man. His face was a bit lumpy. His nose had obviously been broken more than once. His fingers were blunt and calloused. His pulled back hair was dark, but the roots glinted with silver. Scars marked his neck and jaw, evidenced by thinning spots in the scruffy beard.

Still…there was something stalwart and vulnerable shining in the man's eyes, an oddly compelling beauty. And he was a prize worth taking and keeping, if he could command the devotion of a man of Shaw’s caliber.

But Nathanos knew Shaw well enough to predict the toll it would take from the man’s already fragile spirit. Seeing his lover in a cage, trapped by his love for Shaw, watching him fade. It was a cruelty that Nathanos had no business even considering.

A disquieting trickle of shame ran through him. _Shaw’s lover must be set free. I owe him that_. “Come with me,” Nathanos told Fairwind.

The Captain followed him through the streets of Orgrimmar and out the gate, not bothering to hide the dread in his eyes. They gathered many curious looks, but nobody had the foolishness to approach or accost them. At the edge of the beach, where the long sea rushes died away and turned to sand, as Nathanos had expected, two figures stood on the beach, gazing at the distant _Middenwake_.

Shaw spun about at their approach, and froze. It was probably just as well that the man's face was hidden behind his disguise. The sight of Fairwind had to be causing him pain.

“Captain Fairwind will be allowed to leave tomorrow. I will authorize it,” Nathanos promised him.

Fairwind’s eyes were fixed on Shaw. He took a step forward. “Mattie?”

Shaw took a step back, his body coming up against Yurig’s, but gave no other sign of what he was feeling.

“No. I'm not leaving him,” Fairwind said desperately. “Mattie..?” A pleading note crept into his voice.

“Go home, Fairwind.” Shaw's words were without detectable emotion. “There is nothing for you here.”

“There's nothing for me anywhere but here...”

“You should listen to him, Captain Fairwind.” Nathanos advised.

“Not happening, mate.”

Nathanos could see distress becoming more evident in Shaw's posture. “I don't think you quite understand the situation,” he told Fairwind coldly. “Shaw. Kneel!”

Shaw dropped to his knees as if his legs had been kicked out from under him. Nathanos reached out and peeled the hood back from the spymaster’s face. Shaw ducked his head and knelt in place, swaying, shoulders hunched, staring at the sand.

“He belongs to me,” Nathanos hissed in Fairwind’s ear. “With you gone, he'll be able to reconcile to that. If you stay...I'll have to hurt him. Believe me...that's not something you'd want to see.”

Fairwind flinched, eyes filled with horror.

Yurig’s ears flattened with distress. He gave Nathanos a pleading look.

“Blightcaller. Don't do that to him. He's off-limits.” Shaw was still on his knees, but his head was no longer bowed. His eyes flickered to Fairwind, then quickly away. “I'll convince him to leave.”

Nathanos considered the offer for a moment, then gave a brief nod. “Very well.” He scanned the surrounding beach. Not far away was a fisherman's shanty, weathered and obviously abandoned. “Take that, if you'd like some privacy and shelter from the wind.”

Shaw gave a jerky nod of thanks and struggled to his feet. “Fairwind, with me,” he snapped and strode in the direction of the shanty.

Without any hesitation, the ex-pirate fell into step behind him.

“Wait,” said Nathanos. “I’ll have a brief word with the captain. Then I’ll send him to you.”

“Blightcaller.” _Please_ , his eyes begged.

“It will be brief.”

Shaw hesitated, torn.

“Don’t you be worrying about me, mate. I’ve been in the company of worse, eh?” Fairwind’s voice was steady. His eyes devoured Shaw, as if, not having seen the man in so long, he couldn’t bear to let his gaze waver, lest he disappear again. “I’ll be right along.”

Shaw turned slowly and began to make his way across the shifting sands.

The wind rose, whuffling past Nathanos’ ears and blowing bits of sand to sting his cheeks. The captain’s horsetail fluttered across his shoulder. Nathanos took a step closer to the human. “Listen carefully, Captain Fairwind, for you’ll only get but one warning. You think you know him. But Mathias Shaw is no longer the same man who you once knew. He has been altered by circumstances that you cannot begin to imagine. He is...fragile. Have a care. Diplomacy is not an attribute that you are known for, so bear in mind that if you break him further, I will return you to your ship, open the ports of the _Banshee_ and send you and your ship to the bottom of the sea. Is that clear?"

Fairwind’s eyes opened wide. “I would never hurt him,” he choked.

“Then do not leave him with doubts or fearing for your safety. Do not cut him to ribbons with your regret. Simply tell him goodbye and cast off. Convince him that you will not return.”

There was a stubborn, mutinous look on Fairwind’s face. _Not much for deception, this one_. “Right, mate. Thanks for the warning. That all? Three hundred pounds of Azerite, Lord Blightcaller. You could buy yourself a lot of flesh for a price like that.” There was a frustrated, fevered glitter in the man’s eyes.

“He’s waiting for you, Captain.” Shaw was standing beside the shanty, the ragged edges of his Shroud fluttering like the feathers of a storm battered gull. His eyes were on Nathanos.

Lips pressed together, Fairwind whirled and strode away.

* * *

Mathias waited until Flynn was inside before slamming the door.

It was just like Blightcaller. The man probably thought he was being kind. He couldn't know that he was ripping Mathias’ heart out with his cruel gift. Giving him just a taste of something that could no longer belong to him.

 _No, that’s not fair. I asked him for this_.

Flynn's eyes were upon him, anxious and curiously bright. “Mattie. You've been away for too long.”

“I'm still away, Fairwind. You shouldn't be here.” He had to keep the man at a distance somehow, and calling him by his first name was an intimacy that was too painful to tolerate.

“The crew is on standby every minute that I’m away. Ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.”

“Take the _Middenwake_ back to Boralus, Captain. If you don't go now, they'll take her for a prize, and you and your crew will end up in chains.” He didn’t want to add that he’d probably be given charge of them; he didn’t want to tempt Flynn into betraying his crew or leaving them behind on the mistaken notion than Mathias could eventually be persuaded to abandon Blightcaller. “Go. Now. Don’t come back. I won’t be able to beg his mercy a second time.”

“Not without you, mate.” Flynn's voice took on a husky note. “We came here for you. We’ll leave with you.”

“Don't be a fool!” Mathias lashed out, using rage to tourniquet the overwhelming torrent of pain that Flynn's words pulled from him _we came here for you…_ “Save yourself and your crew. It's what a good captain would do.”

“Oi…Mattie.” Flynn’s fingers bit into his arms. “Now you're just playing dirty. Talk to me, Mattie,” Flynn pleaded. “We could just wing it out of here. Ship’s in the harbor, ready to sail us home. Everyone's just waiting on the word. And she's fast, Mattie. So swift and beautiful on the waves. I've made improvements, put some of that Azerite to good use. That great hulking wreck that Blightcaller commands will never catch us. Come back home with me."

"I can't."

"But...why not?" Flynn demanded desperately. "Mathias...why would you stay? Nobody would tell me anything when you disappeared. Are you on some sort of vital mission for Wyrmbane? Because if you are, I say...fuck that, mate. Come home."

“I can't.” Mathias hardened his voice. “You have no idea what price I've paid for your life, Fairwind. If you don't leave now it…it will kill me.” The man he had once been would never have stooped to using his own pain to coerce, but that man was gone, and what was left was not as important as the need in Mathias’ heart to save Flynn Fairwind.

“Come away with me, love,” Flynn whispered, a sound of pure pain.

“There's no hope for us, Fairwind. Not anymore.” Mathias’ throat closed; knowing, even as he spoke that it was useless. He didn't have the words that could make Flynn leave him, that would keep the man he loved safe.

He heard the whisper of bootsteps approach. “Time is up, Captain Fairwind,” Blightcaller announced.

“Oi...have a heart, Blightcaller.” Flynn's voice was thick.

“Obviously you've mistaken me for someone with a full set of functioning internal organs, Captain.”

A stubborn look came into Flynn's eyes. “Aye, then, I'll just be off.” _This isn't over_ , his expression told Mathias.

They exited the shack and tramped down the beach to the dock. The wind blew sand into Mathias’ eyes and he kept having to wipe it away. Waves crashed against the piers as they approached, and the smell of the sea breeze filled Mathias’ nostrils. The scent of salt and death. Rotting seaweed and the abandoned shells of crabs waiting on the beach for the tide to sweep them away.

The _Middenwake_ rested at the end of the pier, hemmed in by a three masted orcish vessel and the huge, looming bulk of the Banshee’s Wail. There were familiar faces at the rail, watching their approach. Most of Flynn’s sailors had been with him a very long time. There were also a number of goblins, probably part of Flynn’s disguise as a Freehold pirate ship.

Blightcaller and Yurig stopped at the halfway point, and Mathias stopped with them. Flynn continued for a few more steps, then halted and whirled about, his coat flapping in the wind. He doffed his hat and bowed to Blightcaller. “Thanks for the hospitality. Tell the green fellow with the tusks that if he wants to play a real man's drinking game he should look me up in Freehold.” His eyes shifted to Mathias and hardened again with pure stubbornness. “See you around, Mattie.”

Blightcaller folded his arms and stared at Flynn, his thick eyebrows compressed and a look of unhappiness in his eyes. As if he was being pushed toward a decision that he had not wished to make, a course of action that would give him pain.

Mathias waited, heart pounding in his chest. _Please, Blightcaller. Let him go_. The Forsaken couldn't have missed the defiance in Flynn's eyes. “You have my promise, Blightcaller,” he reminded the man in a low voice. “You own me, you will always own me, I swear it…”

Flynn would not be dissuaded. He’d come back again and again. If banned from the harbor he would make a pest of himself, sailing up and down the coast. Eventually he would be declared a menace and then the _Middenwake_ would be fired upon. Unless Mathias could do something to prevent it. If the ship could be disabled without loss of life…Flynn and the crew sent back to Kul Tiras…

He was so deep in worried thought that the cold press of Blightcaller’s hands on his face caught him off guard. Blightcaller’s lips came down on his, and Mathias was too startled to return the kiss.

Blightcaller released him. “Goodbye, Shaw.”

“What?”

“Go,” commanded Blightcaller.

“Go?” Mathias asked in confusion. Where was he being sent? Was Blightcaller denying him even the experience of watching Flynn’s departure for as long as he was able?

“Get on the ship. Join your ex-pirate.” Blightcaller’s voice was resigned.

"You're...letting me go? Why?" Blightcaller’s words were paralyzing him. The thought of walking away, of leaving the protection of the man's arms...of violating the pact that was all that stood between Mathias and an unimaginable hell…

… _for Flynn_ …

“You are precious to me, Shaw. I do not know how you became so, and it is not a thing I would have welcomed, had I a choice.” His hand rose to caress Mathias’ cheek. “Precious, but not truly mine. Perhaps you never would have been."

“I don’t understand.” Mathias tried to keep his limbs from giving way beneath him. Was this a trick? A test? Was Blightcaller expecting him to refuse, to convince him of Shaw’s loyalty?

 _No. He’s never tried to deceive me that way_. It was one of the things Mathias appreciated about him. Blightcaller always gave him truth, even when it wasn’t convenient or pleasant.

“When I first took you, I knew nothing beyond the fact that I wanted to possess you. I…did not understand why.” A note of what almost sounded like embarrassment had crept into the Forsaken’s voice. “You have changed me, spymaster Mathias Shaw. It was a thing I would not have thought possible. Perhaps it could be said that you have given me back my humanity. As much humanity as the Forsaken can lay claim to. I am…grateful. Much as it pains me to admit to such a thing.”

“I…don’t know quite what to say, Blightcaller.” _Of all the places I might have expected our conversation to go, this was not even on the list_.

“I can't keep you." Blightcaller cupped Mathias’ chin, tilting his head up. "You've been fading since the day you came into my hands."

"Our deal..."

"Slowed the process but did not halt it."

"I promised I wouldn't escape."

"You aren't." Blightcaller's fingers trailed against Mathias’ skin as he released him. "Live, Shaw. Take your lover and go. Live a life that is pleasing to you. I will keep my end of our bargain. If you die and Sylvanas comes into possession of the remains, I will prevent her from raising you, if I can. Though it will give me pain to lose you permanently." For a moment there was a naked loss that Mathias had never thought to see in the man’s expression, then Blightcaller turned abruptly and walked away, down the pier.

Mathias watched him, his arms and legs feeling weighted down.

“Shaw.” Yurig’s soft voice broke into his thoughts. The tauren’s huge bulk loomed over him, familiar and comforting.

“I’m…leaving.” Mathias wrapped his arms around Yurig’s waist and buried his face in the tauren’s coarse hair. _This is the last time I’ll be here…_

Yurig’s fingers ruffled Mathias’ hair and traced a path over his face. “Your lover…he will treat you well? He will keep you warm at night?”

“Yes.”

“I will miss having you in my bed,” Yurig said wistfully. “My lord is skilled at pleasures, but he does not cuddle well.” The tauren’s muzzle pressed against the side of Mathias’ face. “You are loved, Shaw. You will be missed. And if you ever wish to return, you will be welcomed.” The tauren sighed, his breath ruffling Mathias’ hair. “But this is what is best for you, I think. You are strong enough to leave us now.”

 _Time to let go_. For a moment, Mathias couldn’t bring himself to release the tauren. Yurig. For so long, he had found no place safe but in Yurig’s arms. Out there…wasn’t safe. But out there was Flynn. Waiting for him. Mathias loosened his grip and stepped back.

“Goodbye, Shaw.” With one last caress, the tauren turned and went to join Blightcaller, who had paused at the end of the dock, waiting. When Yurig reached him, Blightcaller fell into step beside the tauren.

Footsteps approached from behind Mathias. Booted feet, making quick, eager vibrations down the wooden planks.

“Hey, mate,” Flynn said gently. He had come up close behind Mathias. “You okay?”

“I'm all right.” Mathias couldn't force his eyes away from Yurig and Blightcaller. He wondered what he would do if the man stopped. Turned around.

_You're letting me go?_

_Why?_

Finally, Blightcaller and Yurig turned the corner and went out of sight behind the boathouse. Shaw sagged, feeling...empty. It was a silence he had not felt for a very long time. No fear. No pain. Nothing.

Flynn waited. Mathias wondered when the man had learned the art of silence. _Do I even know him anymore? Or are we two strangers who used to be lovers?_

Finally, Flynn gave a sigh. "Blightcaller said that you weren't the man you used to be." Flynn’s voice made it a question.

"I'm not. I never will be. I’m sorry."

Flynn pressed himself against Mathias’ back, wrapping his arms around him and gently kissing his neck. "Then give me the chance to learn to love the man who you have become. Just give me the chance, Mattie."

Mathias turned to face him, leaving Flynn's arms clasped behind the small of his back. His fingers crept up to trace over the familiar curves of Flynn's face, the dip of his nose with a slight lump at the end, the way his eyebrows stuck out at right angles, the scar on his forehead where the boom had struck during a storm, the scratchy feel of the man's mustache and beard.

There were new lines between Flynn's brows and at the corners of his eyes. Shaw's fingers explored those as well, memorizing them.

“If I've gotten old,” Flynn told him, “I blame you. I've been searching for you, Mattie. Every place I thought you might have gone. Every port of call. Every tavern. Every coast. Every town. I never stopped looking for you, Mattie. Never. Never. And I never would have. Not till I'd seen your cold, dead body with my own eyes and even then, I'd still have been looking for you, just in different places.” Flynn’s mouth trembled up into a sad smile. “They say paradise can be found at the bottom of the bottle, mate.”

Mathias wrapped his arms around the back of Flynn's neck and pulled him in for a kiss. “Let's look a little closer to home, shall we Fairwind?” He gave a joyful laugh. It was good to be able to say the man’s name again. Unafraid. “Flynn Fairwind. What are we doing standing about on the dock when there are other places we might be?”

“Just a couple of fools,” Flynn laughed, tucking his arm into Mathias’ and pulling him toward the _Middenwake_. “Oi, Mattie, you wouldn’t believe some of the wonderful places that I’ve been to, and all I could think of, everywhere I went, I was picturing you right in the middle of it. With me.”

They climbed the gangplank. _Don’t look back_ , Mathias told himself. _You should never look back_.

“Welcome to the most loyal, fun-loving ship of fools that you’ll find on any of the seas. Even the little green blighters aren’t bad, once you get used to them.” He clapped Mathias on the back with a resounding whack. “Eyes on the horizon, Mattie. And DON’T SPARE THE CANNON, BOYS!”

He began shouting orders and the crew scrambled about with near hysterical good cheer, most of them tumbling all over themselves in a frenzy of eagerness to be leaving Horde territory. The ship was cast off, the sails were furled and Mathias watched Flynn in his element, drinking in the sight of him, knowing that he had all the time in the world. _Give me the sun on my back, the wind in my hair and a ship beneath my feet_.

Mathias Shaw was going home at last. 

* * *

Eventually, the tiny silhouette of the Middenwake was lost to sight on the darkening horizon.

"They are away," Yurig said softly. He stooped to close his fist about a handful of sand. "Earthmother, watch over him. Let your winds fill his sails." He opened his hand, letting the wind whip the sand away as it slipped through his fingers. "Carry him safely to his heart's desire."

Yurig would miss Shaw. Nathanos folded his arms, pushing away the guilt of that, hoping he had made the right choice. "Good riddance," he sniffed. "Humans are expensive to feed."

The tauren's head tilted down, his brown eyes far too knowing. He nuzzled Nathanos' shoulder. "I am so proud of you, my lord."

"Insolent tauren," Nathanos growled. "I've a good mind to smack you upside the head for your presumption."

Yurig shook his head, ears flicking up with interest. "It has been a long time since I've been properly smacked, my lord." he sighed wistfully.

"Hmph."

"We will miss him."

"Hmph."

"But I must confess, my lord..." Yurig gave him a shy look "it gives me pleasure to have you to myself this night. Will you touch me, my lord, here, beneath the sky, in the arms of the Earthmother? You are one of hers now, you know."

Nathanos gave the tauren a startled look. "That hardly seems likely."

"She breathed life back into your body. That makes you hers."

"If favor was showed, I doubt it was to me." If there was ever a creature less likely to be smiled upon by a force of nature, it was one of the Forsaken, Nathanos mused. "I imagine she was just humoring you." Assuming that there was actual intent behind his resurrection. Other than Yurig's. "She probably thinks you have questionable tastes in that regard."

"You are wrong, my lord," Yurig said serenely. His eyes seemed to glow a warm amber in the moonlight reflecting off the sands. "I was made for you, and you for me. I have never doubted that, my lord, not since the day we met. And neither should you."

He ought to have been outraged by the notion. Or at the very least, filled with scorn. But there was something that felt so right, so comforting, in Yurig's trust. He doubted that it was true. But he found the notion pleasing.

The tauren lay down, stretched out in the sandy grass. He held out his arms to Nathanos. "Lay with me, my lord?"

Nathanos allowed himself to be pulled onto the tauren's chest, hoping there was no one about to see him engaging in such an act of puerile sentimentality. "Whatever pleases you, Yurig," he muttered.

"You please me, my lord," Yurig rumbled.

Fingers carded gently through his hair, and the sound of Yurig's heartbeat soothed the ragged edges of his heart. _It's for the best. Shaw could never have been mine. Not the way Yurig is._

The wind swept across his face, and the coarse grasses swayed and rustled, as if secrets were being whispered from the earth to the sea. Nathanos' eyelids drooped. Tomorrow he would take Yurig back to Stonecliff. There would be the sweet rush of pain and passion, and afterwards the warmth and fragrance of lavender oil in the bath. And that night, it would be Nathanos who slept within the circle of the tauren's arms. Yurig had gotten used to sleeping with Shaw, Nathanos reasoned, and it was likely that he would be missing that comfort. It was the least he could do.

Eventually, they both dropped off to sleep beneath the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little sad to see it end. When I first started writing I didn't feel I knew Nathanos all that well. I just let things run where they wanted, and it has been such a joy and pleasure to watch the events and characters unfold.
> 
> I have no idea how many people have been on the journey with me. To those who have been commenting, I want to express my gratitude, and tell you that it has meant so much to me to hear from you.
> 
> I have some "cut scenes" that I plan on publishing, and I also have the beginnings of a plot for a sequel, though I don't know how long it will be before I can get to that. I'm working on probably half a dozen WIPs right now and I'm back to working full time, so my brain is spread a bit thin. But hopefully it won't be too long before I have time for the continuation of Nathanos and Yurig's story.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feedback is much appreciated! I always love to hear your thoughts on my story...


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